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woos-lil-oreo · 3 years

Text

Love Scene

Pairing: Song Min Gi x Female! Reader

Word Count: approximately 3.1k words

Warnings: Slight Voyeurism???, Mentions of alcohol consumption, cursing/swearing, biting, spitting, Reader is a slight pillow princess, UNPROTECTED SEX (plastic wrap your peenie weenies), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight use of pet names... I think that's it.

Author's Note: Most of this is a BIG self-indulgence XD and that Mingi gif always get me going... AnYwAyS, This fic is NSFW!!!! If you are uncomfy, do not read! If I miss anything, please tell me. If you wanna join the taglist, send me an ask and let me know. Don't steal... all that ✨ jazz ✨ music. Drink your water and enjoy my dirty lil harlots 😉

Taglist: @shusan @woowommy @ceopjy @joongsprincess @yunhofingers

Intro and Masterlist ✨

This is the happiest day of your life. You are dolled up in a beautiful snow-white dress decorated in speckled sequins and intricate rhinestone designs.

Your makeup is simple yet glamourous with a simple natural smoky eye with a shimmer in the inner corners. There is this aural glow of happiness around you, and you genuinely feel like a princess.

You are standing in front of your handsome fiancée with your hands holding each other, who is decked out in a simple black suit with a white dress shirt accented with a deep royal blue tie and shiny black Oxfords.

Hongjoong’s friend, Maddox, recites the point in the script where the vows would be repeated by you and your soon to be husband.

The vows. A spiritual binding of words that will connect the two of you until the end of eternity… or until you two get tired of each other, whichever comes first.

As you repeat after Maddox, Mingi’s eyes glisten with tears of joy. As much as he willed himself not to, one little miscreant of a tear dared to fall. You drop one of your hands to go wipe the tear stream off of his cheek.

The guests proceed to awe in adoration. Seonghwa fans his eyes to prevent his tears from falling, while Hongjoong is sporting a runny nose and a giant crocodile tear down his cheek, clinging to Seonghwa’s shoulder.

As you listen to Mingi recite his vows, tears start to well up in your eyes. You grip Mingi’s hand a little tighter to calm yourself because your makeup is beautifully done, and you’d be damned if you let a teardrop and a dried tear stain appear on your cheek. Jae-hee would have your ass. You got through the ceremony without tears!

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Maddox proclaims. You turn to Mingi, who now has one of the brightest smiles ever on his face, and he leaves a nice, sweet, lingering peck on your lips, still holding your hands.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that!” Wooyoung screams out, earning himself a nice smack to the forehead from Yeosang. Wooyoung winces and rubs the spot while the guests laugh at their interaction and turn back to you when Mingi lets go of your hand and smirks.

Mingi pulls you to his chest, grabs you by the waist – pulling you close to him – and kisses you. As the kiss gets deeper, he places his hand on your cheek – steadying your head, and your hands work their way to the back of his head.

The crowd begins to root the two of you on, and Jae-hee screams out, “You guys are literally about to get a room!” You both pull away from each other and look at your husband. Mingi has a very thin layer of shimmer lip gloss on his mouth, and his cheeks and the tips of his ears are red.

A now very flustered and blushy boi Maddox quickly recollects himself from what he just witnessed and mutters, “They don’t pay me enough,” with a chuckle before he announces, loud and proud, “I-I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Song Min Gi!”

Everyone stands up from their seats and creates a round of applause as the newlywed couple leads the processional to the area where the wedding party, which is beautifully attired in soft peach pink dresses and deep royal sapphire blue accented suits, is to take pictures of one of the most important days you will never forget.

~25 minutes later~

The host has completed the introductions for the most chaotic wedding party that has ever existed, and everyone is getting to their seats in the venue.

The reception hall is absolutely stunning! The same colors of the wedding party are accented with gold. Diamonds are loosely scattered across the table, tealight candles alit floating in water vases, giving the room a soft glow in addition to the dimmed lighting.

The caterers are dressed in a clean white shirt, a black vest, and slacks. The guys have a royal blue sleeve garter, and the girls a soft peach one.

Once everyone has settled at their tables, Jae-hee and Yunho approach the front of the makeshift stage to make their toasts as Maid of Honor and Best Man.

Jae-hee grabs the microphone first, and she is already tearing up, and she is usually not one for emotion often. “Y/N, we have been friends for so long… we are practically sisters. I’ve watched you grow into a beautiful and confident woman… and even though I put you through some shit….” All of ATEEZ shakes their head and groan in agreement, and the rest of the guests laugh in response.

Jae-hee rolls her eyes and continues. “I’m so happy that you have found the love of your life and that I wasn’t the first to get married.” You roll your eyes and get up to hug her, and she meets you halfway. While in her embrace, she whispers, “I love you, baby girl,” and you respond with the same hushed tone, “I love you, too,” letting one measly tear run.

You two kiss each other’s cheek, and you return to your seat, and Jae-hee returns to the stage. She grabs Yunho’s handkerchief to dab away her tears before they fall through mascara. “Mingi, I officially welcome you into the messy integration that is our family.” Mingi chuckles and nods in response.

The mic is passed to Yunho. “Mingi, you have grown into an immaculate young man who is decorated with accomplishments and people who love you. I’m really proud of you, and I wish you two the best of luck. Y/N, I have watched you become each other’s yin and yang. You may be a bit of a handful,” you roll your eyes and chuckle. “… But we love you so much, and we welcome you into our quote – end quote ‘messy integration that is our family.’” Yunho walks over to give you a kiss on the cheek, and bro hugs Mingi.

“Cheers!” After an emotional toast from Hongjoong and Seonghwa, it was time for the party to begin, and I mean both aspects of the term. Which explains why you are now seated in a chair in the middle of the dance floor. Mingi is standing across from you with a slightly evil glint in his eye.

Hope You Do by Chris Brown blares through the speakers in the venue. You immediately cover your warm cheeks with your hands to conceal the blush and warmth there, knowing what is to come. Mingi starts to remove his suit jacket… and Yeosang, Yunho, and surprisingly, Jongho remove their coats as well.

As the trio wines and grinds on the floor behind the Groom, Mingi moves closer towards you to go and remove your garter.

When he reaches you, he does not even take the time to bunch up your dress and goes straight into hunting for the garter. His big hands rub around the top of your knees to find it.

When he does, he drops his hands to the floor to give himself leverage. He proceeds to leave a speckled trail of kisses up your leg and bites right below the garter, causing you to yelp in surprise and the crowd to holler out.

Mingi drags the garter down your leg to your ankle and removes it from your foot. At this point, there is a tension between you two that begs and pleads to be relieved.

Mingi stands to his feet, grabbing your hands to guide you straight up off the chair. You two make eye contact, and you can see the tension. “Alright young bachelorettes, come out to the floor and catch you a bouquet!” The host says in the mic, and all the women move to the floor, ready to start drinking, the actual after-party, and the real fun.

When all participants are on the floor, you pretend to throw the bouquet to keep them on edge. After a few false turns, you finally throw, and Jae-hee sprints to the front to catch it effortlessly.

“Yeahhh bitches, I’m next to get married!!!” She jumps up and down as you laugh and the other ladies leave the floor.

The host announces that it is the fellas’ turn to come out on the floor. It was not as many males as females, but there was a good amount present. Mingi played the same card as you: pretending to throw the garter until he did.

In an ironic twist of events, Jongho caught it on the top of his head like a flower crown. When he patted his head to confirm he sort of caught it, he made eye contact with Jae-hee.

They both quickly look away with a bright pink flush on their cheeks, which causes you and Mingi to laugh together. He wraps his arms across your shoulder blades and squeezes your shoulder. You look at him questioningly, and he nods to the door. You nod and grab his hand, running to the back door with your husband.

Seonghwa will have your ass for running out and leaving him and Hongjoong to clean up your mess, but that is a tomorrow problem, and you have more… pressing matters to deal with.

Mingi is flying down the street with you in the back seat to compensate room for your dress. As he tries to get to your home without getting a ticket, you untie his tie and proceed to rub down his chest, slow and meticulously popping one button after another.

Before you could decorate his neck in pretty little hickeys and love bites, the car jerks to a stop, and he power strides to your door and opens it. He grabs you in his arms bridal style out of the vehicle.

You were surprised at how easy he made that look, especially with all of the extra fluff on your dress. He carries you into the threshold with ease, kissing you as if his life depends on it.

When Mingi blindly finds your room, he puts you down on your feet, spins you around, and begins to unzip your dress. He kisses under your ear and down your neck as your dress pools around your feet. He breaks away to rest his forehead on yours.

“As much I would love to pound you into the mattress right now, I would like for our first time as a married couple to be gentle,” he breathes out. You nod your head, and he slowly turns you around to unclip the black strapless bra, allowing your breasts to drop.

He returns his mouth back to your neck and softly twists your nipple between his fingers, eliciting tingles to run all over your body. As good as the feeling was, you remove Mingi’s hand and spin around to face your husband. You walk backward until the back of your legs hit the mattress and lean back.

MIngi crawls on top of you and slowly kisses you. You can feel the passion and love through it, causing you to shiver. Mingi, once again, pulls away from you to drag your black lace panties down your legs. He throws them across the room and stands from the bed, peeling away the dress shirt you opened in the car.

The shirt drops to the floor, and he begins to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor. The pants come next, along with the boxer briefs, and they pooled around his ankles. You bite your finger and lick your lips with lust-darkened eyes as you are being blessed with this private show.

Mingi returns to your V of your legs and brings your ankle to his mouth, leaving delicate kisses down the inner side of your leg until he reaches the inner thigh, where he leaves a bite – causing you to giggle and squirm a bit.

He lifts himself to where his penis grazes your labia. He rubs the tip along your slit and teases the tip inside of your core. “You ready, baby?” He sticks the reddened tip inside, just to pull it back out, and repeats this a couple times until you are a whining and moaning little mess. He finally pushes his dick past the tip and slowly moves into you, allowing you to feel every vein and ridge of his cock.

You moan in relief and very, very, VERY slight pain due to his girth, and Mingi doesn’t stop until he is at the hilt, meeting you pelvis to pelvis. He doesn’t move for a second, trying to collect himself before he busts in you from the tightness of your honey pot. You shiver as he pants in your neck, leaving goosebumps wherever his warm minty breath hits.

You grind your hips around, signaling that you have adjusted to his size, and he moans out at the action. He begins to pump inside very slowly in and out of you, with his brows scrunched and his bottom lip being bitten.

You hear the squelching noises from his slow pace. When you started getting louder, Mingi moves a bit faster, seeing that you are slowly reaching your orgasm, and frankly, so is he. “Baby, I love you so much,” he mutters like a mantra as he helps you both reach new heights.

You two have made love before, but never to this extent. After every mutter, your heart from knowing that this is the man you will spend the rest of your life with. You place your hand on the back of Mingi’s neck to kiss him, but before your lips could make contact, Mingi stops.

He licks the base of his thumb and places a firm pressure on your clitoris, and then kisses you, his tongue swirling around your own. You two are seeing specks of light under your eyelids from cumming so hard. It may not have been anything degrading, rough or intense in that sense. Still, it was absolutely beautiful joining souls with your lover.

~The Next Morning~

You wake up feeling floaty, like you are lying on a cloud. Your husband is asleep with his arm draped around your waist. As you face Mingi, his features are soft, and it looks like he is in bliss. You place your hand on his cheek and caress the apple.

When you are done admiring your husband, you carefully move his arm to his side to make breakfast. You are successful in not waking Mingi and hop out of bed, still naked from last night’s escapades. “Wow, it feels nice to say that,” you think as you grab your husband’s dress shirt and run to the bathroom to clean Mingi’s cum that has dripped down your leg.

~A few minutes later~

You are now in the kitchen, whipping up some waffle batter. The table is decorated with a nicely plated array of bacon and a bowl of freshly washed and cut fruit. You finish plugging in the waffle iron when your husband wraps his arms around your shoulders and spins you around.

He quickly lifts you on the counter. “Good morning, Mrs. Song.” He says huskily from his morning voice. You try to reply with a greeting, but Mingi catches the words in your mouth. Your lips are smashed together from Mingi’s fervency, and his long and slender fingers start to move down to your hole.

“Oh my goodness, babe. You’re so wet for me.” He teased. You moan out while he rubs your entrance, spreading your slick up and down. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks when he pushes a finger in, causing you to scream in response. “Those weren’t proper words, but I’ll take it.” He responds while adding another finger in and drastically changing his pace. You cry out due to the incredible speed. Mingi looks up at you.

Your head is tilted back, tiny pants coming from your mouth, and hands grabbing the counter as if to ground yourself. Mingi lets a drop of spit fall from his mouth and adds another finger to add more lubrication and bring you closer to climax.

You start to squirm on the counter, which is now soaked in your fluids, and whimper softly. A telltale sign that you are almost there; you just need that one little push. Mingi kneels down to be face to face with your cunt, and he stares at your dripping core as if he was hypnotized by how well you are taking his digits.

A loud moan from you knocks him out of his trance, and he adds one more finger and starts to apply suction on your button. A blinding white light flashes behind your eyelids, and a fuzzy warmth roams all over your body.

You breathe heavily from your high, and Mingi slows his speed, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. He slowly removes his fingers, causing you to whimper from overstimulation, and brings them to your mouth.

You immediately open your mouth to welcome in the appendages and begin to suck them as if your life depends on it. The spit dribbles from your mouth down your chin and along Mingi’s forearm. He gently pulls at your jaw to open your mouth and spits in your mouth.

“Swallow.” He growls, and you do not think twice about disobeying him. He returns to kiss you, mixing your natural taste with your juices and his tongue.

He pulls away, and your fucked out state is adorable: your eyes are dilated from here to Hell, saliva glistening your chin, your cheeks are heavily flushed, and your ass is drenched with your cum.

“If this is what I wake to every morning, I’m not complaining.” Mingi chuckles. “You didn’t even get to have breakfast yet.” You laughed. He looks with an eyebrow raised… “Oh, you meant actual food?” You nod your head.

“As long as I have you, I don’t think I’ll need anything else.” He cheesily says. “Yeah, sure, that’s not what your body will be saying.” You retaliate as you jump off the counter, cringing when you hear your butt peel off the corner from your juices.

Mingi laughs, grabs some paper towels to clean that. When he’s done, he washes his hands and proceeds to help you cook so you two can build the stamina to christen the rest of your home together. Well, christen is not the right word… more like fuck like rabbits until the morning light returns.

~~~~~

And there's the fic ✨ hope you enjoyed the read ✨ leave an ask and say hi or even follow me or reblog if you did

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tothemeadow · 3 years

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A New Year’s gift from me to you!

~*ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ TᗯO*~

warnings: NSFW, semi-public sex

words: 5.1 k

Prologue | Chapter One

“Not interested.”

All it takes is those two words, two dreadful words, and Kyojuro’s groaning in disappointment. Tapping his fingers against the chair’s arms, he pushes his lips out in a pout. Giyuu merely rolls his eyes at him, gaze flicking back to whatever is displayed on the computer’s screen.

It had only been a mere suggestion, nothing more. Go out, get some drinks, maybe find someone to take home. Lord knows how much Giyuu needs to get laid; the guy’s stress is palpable, and Kyojuro wants to help his friends however he can. Maybe all it takes is to get his dick sucked, nice and fucking hard. And, if he plays his cards right, have someone clinging onto his arm by the end of the night.

Kyojuro isn’t an idiot, nor is he blind. Giyuu is beautiful, looking like he stepped right out of the pages of some goddamn fairy tale. Hell, even his bank account is real pretty, every single zero making it even more dazzling. What he means is that Giyuu can have anybody if he truly wanted to. The problem is, however, is that a sack of potatoes has more charisma than the poor man. Giyuu isn’t much of a social butterfly, unlike Kyojuro.

It kind of sucks.

“Aw, come on, man,” Kyojuro groans, “let me take you for a night out. You need some time to sit back and relax. Let someone else take care of you.”

“You’re being awfully persistent about this.”

“That’s because I want what’s best for you, duh. You run some bigshot company and need me to explain that to you? What was the point of you traveling overseas for university if you don’t put that knowledge to use?”

With a sigh, Giyuu turns away from his computer and rests his elbows on his desk. Like the rest of his office, it’s a solid piece of modern, expensive style. The wood gleams with the rays of sunlight pouring in through the windows, looking almost too neat to be believable. There’s not a speck of dust in sight. It’s not the first time Kyojuro’s visited Giyuu’s office, but it always amazes him just how clean and immaculate the space is. It really reflects its owner, his simple yet sleek style.

“Kyojuro,” Giyuu starts, threading his fingers together, “you literally told me you wanted me to take someone home.”

At that, Kyojuro smiles. “And what’s your point? You go to some Ivy League school and not partake in some parties? No keg stands? Beer pong? Fucking the brains out of some busty blonde?”

“Not everyone is a certified sex symbol,” Giyuu states coolly. “You don’t see my face on the cover of magazines advertising an article about some upcoming film where I blow everyone to bits and take a dame to bed.”

“Ohohoho, somebody’s getting frisky, I see. That is a sign, my dear friend. You need to get your dick wet and pronto.”

“Don’t belittle me.”

Raising his hands in mock self-defense, Kyojuro flashes Giyuu a knowing smirk. “You’re only proving my point. And if you don’t want to meet somebody random, why not let me hit up someone I know? I can set you up.”

Giyuu scoffs. “No thanks.”

“Oooo, what about Mitsuri or Shinobu-“

“Don’t ever suggest that,” Giyuu hisses. His entire face scrunches, much like he just tasted something incredibly sour.

Bursting into a fit of laughter, Kyojuro leans forward in his seat, hands gripping onto his sides. “Shit, man, I forget how funny you can be sometimes!” Wiping away at his eyes, he sits back, a spare giggle or two escaping from his lips. “Speaking of Mitsuri… I guess she really hit it off with Idris’ girl’s friend.”

Instead of saying anything, Giyuu merely raises an eyebrow. However, he still looks incredibly disinterested.

“Oh, you remember her, don’t you? The one from the party last week? Long legs, nice ass? I think her name was (y/n)?”

At the mention of your name, Giyuu visibly perks up. Heh. Hook, line, and sinker.

“It’s a damn shame, don’t you think? Somebody so fine got nabbed before I even had the chance to make a move,” Kyojuro continues, willing his voice to take on a wistful tone. He sends Giyuu a wink. “She’s a solid ten, don’t you think?”

The movement is so, so subtle, but Kyojuro knows he’s got Giyuu right where he wants him. Giyuu clears his throat, then – a poor attempt at trying to come off as disinterested. “It’s a good thing Mitsuri found someone she likes so much,” he says, completely bypassing the question.

“Mitsuri likes her, alright; likes her even better in bed.”

It takes all of Kyojuro’s willpower not to laugh, it really does. He can practically see the gears turning in Giyuu’s head, the slight tinge of red blooming on the tips of his ears. Jeez, if it takes this much to get Giyuu flustered, then he’d pay to see what would happen if he took Giyuu to a strip club.

“And I’ll tell you what,” he continues, crossing his legs and cocking his head. “Mitsuri’s willing to share her with the rest of us, but only if she wants it.”

“What… What are you talking about? What do you mean by sharing?”

Clicking his tongue in amusement, Kyojuro uncrosses his legs and shuffles forward, just barely sitting on the edge of the chair. “Exactly what it sounds like, Giyuu. Doesn’t that sound nice? Imagine having a pretty thing like that sitting on your lap.”

Again, Giyuu scoffs. “You’re starting to sound like Tengen.”

“But you didn’t say no to what I just put in your head.”

Giyuu grumbles something under his breath, but it’s too low for Kyojuro to understand. No matter; there’s a knock at the door, then, and in pops Giyuu’s personal secretary’s head. A cute boy – Kamado Tanjiro – with honest eyes and a genuine smile. The earrings he wears swings in his lobes. “Tomioka-san, you’re three o’clock appointment is here. Shall I tell them you’re busy?”

“Don’t worry about it, Tanjiro,” Kyojuro says. Drawing himself up to a stand, he smooths out the wrinkles in his pants and salutes Giyuu with two fingers. “Think about what I said, Giyuu. There’s fun to be had.” With a final smirk, he brushes past Tanjiro and leaves.

It’s only been a few days since that experience with Mitsuri, but you can already tell that something’s changed. Granted, you still feel a bit odd about the whole situation, but another, darker side of you is pleased. Daki is more than ecstatic to have you as a sugar sister; before, whenever you’d go shopping with her, you’d only help pick out clothing for her since everything was way too damn expensive. Now, though… Now things are different.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Daki gushes from where she sits. Perched on a fluffy stool in front of her vanity, she carefully applies a set of false eyelashes. “Like, think of all the fun things we get to do together! Don’t get me wrong, Idris is great, but some of those parties he drags me to can be an absolute bore. If you’re there, well, it’s bound to be more fun! Besides, think of all the yummy treats you’ll get to have…”

From your spot on the couch, you guffaw at your friend’s attempt to hype you up. Carefully, you dip the brush back into the bottle; the nail polish Daki picked out is a shade of pastel pink with pearl undertones. She said Mitsuri really had a thing for pretty pink things, so it was only natural for you to fit that bill, obviously.

“Yes, because stuffing my face with macarons and bubbly is how I want to spend my time,” you say, sarcasm dripping heavily from your words.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t love that,” Daki throws right back at you. “Besides, you wanna be extra sweet for Mitsuri, don’t you? Don’t act like Mitsuri didn’t already have her head stuffed between your legs.”

“Daki!” you shriek. You scramble to catch the bottle of nail polish before it spills all over the place. “Don’t say things like that!”

“Pffft, what for? It’s true, you sneaky bitch! You’ve been glowing ever since your date with her! Did I not tell you that sex with Misturi is the bomb?”

“Okay, okay! You were right!” you exclaim, bursting into round of giggles.

Putting her mascara away, Daki gets up from her spot and moves to where you sit on the couch. Lifting your legs, she slithers in next to you and props your feet on her lap. “Give me that,” she says, taking the nail polish away from you. “Are you and Mitsuri going on a date anytime soon?”

As you nod, a sheepish smile grows on your face. “Yeah – she’s taking me to a theatre tonight, actually. I guess there’s some play she wanted to watch with me.”

“Aww, well isn’t that cute!” Daki chirps, not looking away from the task at hand. “Wait,” she says, suddenly looking up at you, “that means I get to play dress up, right?”

Since being Idris’ sugar baby and all, Daki is no stranger to the luxurious lifestyle and the vast amount of clothes and accessories that comes with. Furthermore, Idris even bought her some swanky apartment, filled with top notch appliances, spacious rooms, and yes, you guessed it – a walk in closet. It’s where you sit now, gazing at the numerous wracks of clothing, the shelves of shoes and purses. It put you in mind of Barbie’s closet, actually, with just how many articles of clothing Daki owns.

You guess you could consider yourself lucky that you and your best friend are the same size. Sure, you’ve shared clothes with each other throughout the years, but once she started her “collection” of designer products, it was game over. You became her personal doll, then, and Daki loved every second of it.

The smile on your face grows at Daki’s excitement. “Who else would I have to pick me out the perfect outfit?” you coo. Daki giggles, then, her green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Chop, chop,” she says, pushing your feet away and standing up. You take a moment to admire the neatly applied nail polish adorning your toes. “I have the perfect outfit in mind for you, and it’s bound to have Mitsuri drooling all over you!”

“Are you sure about that?” you tease, lolling your head to the side.

Scurrying over to a wrack of dresses (all of which are designer, you’re sure of it), Daki pushes some to the side and grabs one that has you gasping. Powder blue in color, the bustier top and layered tulle skirt almost seem more befitting of a princess rather than yourself. Standing up from the couch, you walk over to her, eager to get a better closer. Lacey pastel flower decorate the top layer of tulle and travel up the bustier, all looking so delicate and sweet. It’s a beautiful dress, that much is for sure.

“I’ll do your hair and makeup, too, okay!” Daki exclaims. She really is too sweet for her own good sometimes.

Later that very evening, you’re sitting in the back of a sleek, luxurious car. Mitsuri sits next to you, looking as perfect as always; with her curled hair pinned high on her head, you’re graced with the elegant slope of her neck, the diamond choker wrapped around her throat. A few curly wisps of pink and green hair frame her face, give her a youthful look. She’s so breathtakingly stunning that it’s leaving your throat dry.

Mitsuri busies herself with messaging someone on her phone – she’s already apologized for letting her work get in the way of your date tonight – but you don’t mind, not when you get to gaze at her lovely being. You’ve already began to familiarize yourself with her brand and the creative looks she specializes in: sultry, elegant, and enough to bring a person to their knees. Perhaps that’s what you tell yourself as your eyes scan over her bare skin; it’s for fashion, of course, not because you’re a shameless pervert.

Still, the choker adorning her throat is a bit too enticing, especially with its delicate chain hanging from its center, nestled between the valley of her voluptuous breasts. Why does she always have to have her cleavage on full display around you? Doesn’t she have any idea how much it makes your brain melt?

“You’re staring,” Mitsuri murmurs, her attention still on her phone. The corners of her mouth curl into a smile. “You’re not distracted, are you, sweets?”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” you whisper. “It’s not my fault that you’re too pretty.”

A pleasant blush blooms on her face. Sparing a moment to glance at the chauffeur, Mitsuri clicks her screen off and puts her phone back into her purse. “Come here,” she says, her voice dripping with honey. Wrapping an arm around your waist, she pulls you closer, barely brushes her glossed lips against your ear. “You don’t want to start something like that, do you? I don’t want to be rude and ruin the back of this car.”

The giggle in your ear is enough to send shivers down your spine. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, sweets, is that I don’t want to have someone clean your cum off of this leather.”

You gasp as a wave of heat strikes your very core, wraps around your insides and gives them a good squeeze. “Mommy,” you plead, keeping your voice quiet.

“And your hair and makeup look so nice,” Mitsuri continues. “It’d be a shame to ruin it before you get to show it off.”

Shit, Daki was right. Turns out she knew exactly what she was doing.

“All that matters is that Mommy got to see it,” you purr, leaning more into her warm body. Your eyelashes flutter when her soft breast makes contact with your arm. “It doesn’t matter who else gets to see it.”

The grip around your waist tightens. “(y/n)…”

“Kanroji-san, we’re here,” the chauffeur’s voice suddenly cuts in. It’s enough to snap you back to reality; glancing out the window, you’re greeted with the sight of a brightly lit theatre and a line of patrons waiting at the ticket booth.

“My, my,” Mitsuri says, “looks like it’s going to be a packed house tonight. It’s a good thing I booked some tickets ahead of time, huh?” Turning back to you, she flashes a lovely smile and caresses your cheek. “Have you ever sat in a balcony seat before, darling? You’re going to have a great view.”

“Wait, seriously? Aren’t those super… expensive…?” as you trail off, realization dawns upon you. Of course Mitsuri would buy out some of the most expensive seats in the house – it’s only natural of her to do so. Still, the mere idea of how much they even spent throws your mind in for a loop.

“And your reaction makes it even more special,” Mitsuri purrs. “Come on, let’s go get seated while there’s still time.”

Opening the car door, Mitsuri steps out, and then she promptly turns back to you to help. Linking her arm around yours, she leads you inside the theatre; taking some twists and turns, she leads you up a secluded staircase that, in turn, takes you to the proper balcony. A gasp escapes from your mouth before you can stop it. It’s utterly breathtaking from where you are, the large stage set below you, the sea of people swarming to find their own seats.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Mitsuri asks you as she joins you by the ledge. Setting her elbows on the wall, she looks around the theatre, a thoughtful hum vibrating in her throat. “And just think, sweets, that this is all for you.” Turning to you, she perches her chin in a hand. “I’ll show you so many things that you’ll love, darling. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mitsuri,” you murmur. Swallowing thickly, you push back the creeping urge to cry. How did you get so lucky meeting someone so genuinely sweet?

“Hey now,” Mitsuri continues, still using that honeyed tone, “don’t get sappy. If you start to cry, then I’ll start crying as well!”

Beckoning you over, she takes her seat and watches as you take the one next to hers. The balcony itself is small, with enough room only for three seats. And, as far as it seems, you’ll get to spend the entirety of the play alone with Mitsuri, away from wandering eyes. Hands intertwined with hers, the two of you fall into easy conversation and mild flirting to pass the time. Both of you are practically petting each other’s thighs through your dresses when the door opens; snapping hands away from each other, you turn to see who the unexpected newcomer is.

“Giyuu?”

Coming to an abrupt stop at the sound of his name, Giyuu’s eyes widen. Once he sees it’s only you and Mitsuri, he visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping. “Um… Hello, ladies. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Drawing around the corner, he stands awkwardly before the empty seat. He offers a polite bow, but you notice right away that his eyes refuse to meet yours.

“This is certainly a pleasant surprise!” Mitsuri chirps, a dazzling smile spreading on her features.

“Tomioka-san,” you say, trying to put his nerves at ease, “please, sit down. I don’t bite.”

Still, Giyuu refuses to meet your eyes, but he does as you say and takes the seat next to you. It may be the dim light of the theatre, but you swear there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

Okay, time to try this again. “Tomioka-san… I wanted to thank you for last time. For trying to comfort me when I was so obviously out of place at that party.”

At that, Giyuu clears his throat, and then he finally looks at you. Instead of saying anything, though, he merely grunts and nods his head. You offer him a small smile.

Just as you remember, he’s devastatingly handsome, his gaze a cold, steely blade. On the outside, he seems incredibly intimidating; dark hair, black getup, sharp eyes. You know there’s more than what meets the eye, and Giyuu is the epitome of that very concept. The aura surrounding him is calming, reassuring. You barely know the guy, only met him once, but you already like him.

“My, Giyuu,” Mitsuri speaks up, leaning forward in her seat so she can look around you, “don’t you look nice! I always told you that you would look great in black on black, but you never listen to me! Now look at you! You look like you just came straight off a runway! Don’t you think so, (y/n)?”

Mitsuri has a point, of course. Dressed in a black suit, black button up, and black shoes, Giyuu is the textbook definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He almost seems flustered by Mitsuri’s comment; he looks to you, an unreadable glint in his eyes. Slowly, you nod, humming your agreement.

“I think he looks absolutely dashing,” you say, a small giggle following afterwards.

Giyuu’s eyes drift down, skim across your pretty dress, but you notice the way they linger over the bits of your bare skin. Hastily clearing his throat, his eyes flicker back up, the blush on his cheeks darkening the slightest bit. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “That color really suits you.”

With a smile, you look away, trying to ignore the excited thumping of your heart. Unbeknownst to you, Mitsuri sends Giyuu a glare, but then it melts away into a knowing look. Giyuu catches her eyes, and a silent conversation passes between the two of them.

Perhaps you should’ve paid more attention to them. You should’ve noticed Giyuu’s lingering stares, the way Mitsuri’s hand stayed on your thigh the entire time. But no, you were so enraptured by the play on the stage, stuck in a state of constant awe by the performer’s exquisite ways.

It’s about three fourths of the way through when Mitsuri finally places her lips against your ear, her warm breath fanning across the delicate skin. “Sweets, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, hmm? You’re ruining the experience for Giyuu.” Confused by what she meant, you begin to turn your head to her, but she quickly stops you in your place. “Now, now, don’t make it so obvious. Instead of watching the show, he’s been watching you. I wonder why that is?” She breaks into a low, sultry laugh. You’ve only seen her act this one once, and that was when the two of you…. Well, you know…

“I noticed the way you were looking at him earlier,” Mitsuri continues. “He really is such a pretty man, isn’t he? Especially dressed in all black like that… It’s almost kind of exciting, isn’t it?” Again, she chuckles. “Now, this is entirely up to you, sweets, but I don’t have a problem sharing.”

What? What was that supposed to mean?

“I know, I know, this is all too sudden, but think about it. He’s a pretty man, wouldn’t you agree? I’m not saying you have to, but wouldn’t it be nice to see him in between your legs?”

This time, you snap your head to her. “Mitsuri!” you whisper-yell, “What the hell are you trying to do?!”

“Don’t act so prudish, sweets,” she purrs, her fingers trailing over your jaw. “Just look at him.” Taking your chin in hand, she directs you to look at Giyuu instead. Only one half of his face is illuminated from the light coming from the stage, but you can see the hungry glint in his eyes. “He’s practically undressing you with his eyes, sweets. How does that make you feel?”

“Tomioka-san…”

“Please don’t consider me lewd,” Giyuu starts, his voice just above a raspy grumble. “But I… I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he confesses. “It isn’t fair to you of me thinking that way.”

Swallowing thickly, you release a shaky breath. “And what were you thinking, exactly…?”

Closing his eyes, Giyuu takes a moment to collect himself. “I want what you and Mitsuri have.”

On your other side, Mitsuri giggles. “Hear that, darling? Isn’t that so endearing? Giyuu practically just confessed to you!” Leaning in close, she presses her soft breasts against you. “And I’m perfectly okay if you want to say yes. Everyone deserves some happiness, hmm? Don’t be shy, now. Neither of us are foolish.”

This really is all too sudden. You never your night to head in this direction, nevertheless hear Giyuu tell you that he wants what you and Mitsuri have. Does that mean he also wanted to have a certain arrangement between the two of you? It’s not like you’re against it – Giyuu is certainly handsome, after all – but wouldn’t that make you seem desperate?

“If you’re on the fence about it, why don’t you give a go, just for tonight?” Mitsuri suggests. “We can forget all about it if you want. And if you don’t, well… Things should be fun, shouldn’t they?”

“I… I guess.”

“Wonderful. Giyuu, I give you my blessing to make an impression on our sweet little darling here,” Mitsuri purrs. “Don’t mess it up for yourself.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Giyuu grunts. He holds out a hand, then, a silent question displayed on his face. You glance between his face and his hand; your mind is rapidly going in loops, wondering just what he had in mind exactly. Gingerly, you place your hand in his, gasping when he suddenly yanks you up as he stands. “We won’t be gone for long,” he mutters at Mitsuri.

Mitsuri waves a dismissive hand, an uncharacteristic smirk playing on her pretty face. “Take your time. I know that you’ll need it.”

Giyuu pulls you away, leaving a giggling Mitsuri in your wake. The door to the balcony closes with a click that echoes down the silent hallway. Now that you’re completely alone with him, the realization of what this whole ordeal means comes crashing into you. Giyuu is being dead serious about this, and, well, you are too, apparently.

The two of you remain quiet as he pulls you down the hallway, his grip on your hand both gentle yet strong. He stops outside of a bathroom door, glancing both ways before dragging you in; after he’s checked for any potential bystanders in the bathroom, he locks the door. It’s then that you realize that this is the first time seeing him in bright lighting, but damn he looks just as fine. This is the first time that you’ve also stood directly next to him as well. He’s a lot broader than you anticipated, his shoulders tapering into slim hips.

“I meant it when I said it,” he tells you. The sheer sincerity of his voice strikes something deep within you, leaves you rooted to the spot. “This isn’t the way I wanted things to play out, but I uh, had someone put this little idea in the back of my head and it won’t go away.”

“You… really couldn’t stop thinking about me? I’m flattered, Tomioka-san. I didn’t know I left such an impression on you.”

“Heh. You’d be surprised.” Your breath catches in your throat as takes both of your hands in his, his thumbs drawing soothing circles into the skin. “Listen… I’m not… I’m not really good at this thing,” he says, voice low. “Relationships have never really been my forte.”

Ah, so that explains a lot.

“I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I never pegged you for the sweet type,” you tell him.

“It’s called being considerate. I know plenty of people who wouldn’t hesitate to screw someone over.”

“You’re so serious, Tomioka-san. I can… Let me help you relax. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Giyuu hums, pulls you closer. “It’s not too late to turn back, but I really want this,” he murmurs. “Humor me?”

Before you know it, you’re backing up, the back of your thighs colliding with the counter; Giyuu lifts you with ease, setting your ass on the counter, and slipping between your legs. His mouth descends upon yours, touch almost featherlight as he kisses you. You urge him to press harder, your hands abandoning his hold and grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket instead. Giyuu grunts as you pull him even closer; sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, you pull it outward, relishing in the hiss that escapes him.

You shouldn’t be surprised with the way things go; time blurs, yet the moments seem so sharp. The pretty tulle of your skirt gathers around your hips, Giyuu’s strong hands gripping onto your thighs in such a way that it seems like he’s afraid to let you go. His mouth bleeds gold as you take kiss after kiss away from him, tongue sweeping into his mouth and licking away at the insides.

Things only grow more intimate from there; soon enough, you’re unbuttoning his shirt, hands pressing in and drifting across his skin. He’s surprisingly fit, but then again, it only adds to his godly visage. He’s openly moaning into your mouth at this point, hips bucking forward and seeking out that delicious friction. You choke on a moan as his clothed cock drags across your slit. Your panties are beyond ruined at this point, soaked all the way through and leaving a mess on the front of his slacks.

“Mmph – I bet you feel even better inside,” Giyuu breathes. “I want to… I want to see you wrapped around my cock.”

“Yes, Giyuu, yes,” you plead. Frantically, you undo the pants of his slacks, slip your hand inside his boxers.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses. His hips absentmindedly buck into your touch, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. His voice is so low, so fucking gravelly – it’s wonderful, and fuck if you wouldn’t want to listen to it on loop.

Your insides tighten at the schlick, schlick, schlick noise that fills the bathroom, echoing all around you. Your pussy clenches around nothing, another drop of arousal seeping through your panties. “You said you wanted what I have with Mitsuri, right?” you purr. “Let me… Let me call you Daddy.”

It’s clear that the name causes something to snap inside of him; a growl rips itself from his throat, and his eyes flash with a darker, more animalistic gleam. Urging your hand off of him, he promptly pushes your panties to the side; your body tenses with excitement, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. Giyuu moans as he sheathes his cock inside of you, his hands gripping onto your legs and wrapping them around his slim hips.

“Oh, baby,” he purrs, his hands slamming down on the counter either side of you, effectively caging you in. “Feels so good… so tight…”

“Daddy, come on,” you whine, “we don’t have all night. You wanted this, remember? So fuck me, already. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Giyuu murmurs into your ear. Sliding his hips away, he snaps his cock right back in, your velvety walls eagerly sucking him in. “I plan on doing so much more. You won’t regret it, baby. Not on my watch.”

“Just don’t ruin the dress,” you mutter, placing your lips against the pounding vein in his neck. “It’s not mine and I really don’t feel removing your cum from it.”

Giyuu sucks a breath in through his teeth as you suck a mark into his flesh. “Then I guess I’ll just have to cum inside, huh…?”

“I fucking dare you.”

“That sounds like a challenge, baby. Don’t mind if I do…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they’ve been gone for a while, now,” Mitsuri says quietly into her phone. “Giyuu really needed to let loose, huh?”

“That sneaky little bastard,” Kyojuro says. He sighs. “And I invited for a night out, too. Dammit. Why does everyone else get to have fun while I don’t?”

Mitsuri giggles. “You’re really that jealous of Giyuu, huh? It’s actually really funny. Maybe I should tell Tengen, just to see what his reaction is like!”

“What, so he can join in on your little ‘arrangement’ you’ve got going on? What about me, huh? I thought we were friends!”

“And we are! If (y/n) wants anything to do with you, that’s entirely up to her. Wait, hold on – the door just opened. Talk to you later, Kyojuro!”

“Wait, Mitsuri-“

Click.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira x reader #kny pillars #kny hashira #diamonds are a girl's best friend series

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dreamingofmilk · 4 years

Text

Sugar Babe Chapter 4

We’re back y’all!

Masterlist:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Texts

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Texts

Word Count: 3,018

Synopsis: Things are spicing up with our favorite duo

Warnings: slight smut

Luxury.

Never before have you been introduced to such nice things. Even when you travelled with Erik before for smaller trips, the hotels were nice but they weren’t this nice. Hell most of the time you had to get in a smelly ass taxi to get to the hotel.

But not here, here the two of you were picked up in the nicest car you’ve seen on the road and taken to the nicest hotel you’ve seen in your life. You felt like Queen Latifah in The Last Holiday, and you had to try your hardest not to gawk at the beautiful ceilings. You clenched your jaw to keep from gasping at the stunning interior decor that the hotel had.

The wife of Erik Stevens could not gawk at some really nice ceramic tiles. She had to act like she’d seen it ten times before!

However the wife of Erik Stevens did drop her jaw when she saw the very polite hotel concierge guy hand her fake husband two room keys for one room. A room that you really hoped had two beds in it. Though the smirk on Erik’s face told you otherwise.

“What the fuck Erik?” You mumbled as soon as you stepped on the private elevator for the top floors. Erik smiled and crowded you into a corner of the elevator.

“What?” He says innocently as he gently wraps a piece of your curly hair around his thick index finger.

“I know I booked us two rooms.” You stare accusingly up into his eyes. He smiles wickedly at you and bends down to press a kiss to the back of your ear before speaking.

“We have a job to do here. If they saw that my wife took a separate room, especially a lower grade room than I, they might think there’s trouble in paradise and we can’t have that can we?” You rolled your eyes at how right he was. You hated when Erik was right about things you had already decided on. It proved to you that maybe he didn’t need you and you hated that idea.

You let out a loud moan completely by surprise when Erik bit down on the soft skin underneath your ear.

“I asked you a question. Y/N.” He sucked on the skin underneath your ear, hard. You tried to keep your panting down to a minimum but it was hard, especially when he gripped your hips to pull them closer to him.

You sighed in relief when the elevator finally dinged on the appropriate floor. You gently pushed him out of the way and reached into his front suit pants pocket to pull out one of the room keys. You walked calmly down the hallway to check the room numbers until you found the room. Quickly you put the key in before Erik could stand behind you. Your luggage was already stacked neatly to the side. As you walked into the large main area you quickly realized the hotel suite looked just as amazing as the lobby did. You quickly dropped your purse on the sleek black modern couch and made a beeline for the bedroom. Your fingers crossed that two beds would be waiting for you to claim one.

Your heart sank to your stomach, when you saw only one bed, to their credit, it was massive, but definitely not the two beds that you wanted. There was no way you’d be able to handle sleeping in the same bed with that man, hell you two could barely stay in the same room without him finding a reason to touch you.

“You did this on purpose.” You turn around to glare at him. Erik walked into the room and nodded in approval with a smirk forming on his face.

“Nah. Definitely asked for two beds because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Erik sat in the lavish chair next to the window. His legs spread wide, his stance inviting.

“Yeah right.” You scoff and glance around the immaculate bathroom.

“I did. I told them we needed an extra bed in case we break the first one.”

You cut your eyes towards him, disbelief taking over your features as Erik’s laugh boomed through the entire space. Erik swung his legs back and forth as he chuckled under his breath. He leaned over and picked up the local guide.

“Chill. It’ll be fine. I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s big enough.” Erik smiled and flipped through the guide.

“You can’t sleep on the couch Erik you paid for the room.” You sat down quietly across from him.

“Correction the company paid for the room, so WE worked for this room. I paid for the clothes I bought you. So when they get ripped off you won’t complain.” You gawked at him in response. The man had absolutely no chill! Erik smirked at your reaction. “Baby girl you’re going to quit making them damn faces or I’ll give you a better reason to make them.”

You glared at him, “Erik stop! You play too much!”

He shook his head, a bit of fire in his eyes, “And that’s what you don’t seem to understand Y/N. I’m not playing with you. Not a damn bit. But you are definitely playing with me and I’ll be damned if I keep allowing it. Since you want to keep acting scared things are going to change around here.”

You shook your head, “What the hell are you-”

He clenched his jaw, his frustration clear. “Interrupt me again. See what happens.” He waited a moment to see if you would, and honestly part of you wanted to just to see what he would do about it. But you knew that it would just end with both of you on the bed and you weren’t ready for that, so you backed down. You knew better than to egg this man on. Once he realized that you weren't going to challenge him he smirked. “Hmm, obedient, I can do some things with that.”

You couldn’t fight the heat that rushed to your cheeks. He was nasty! You huffed and stepped away from him.

“I’m gonna unpack and check out the pool.” You turned away from him, reaching up to untie your hair from the long trip. You pulled one of your suitcases into the closet and started unpacking your clothes. Erik walked in and started to unpack his clothes as well.

“I didn’t pack you any swimsuits though. Didn’t take you for a lounge by the pool sort of girl.” Erik shrugged as he hung up his blue dress shirt. “We can go buy you some more. I’d love to see you try them on.” He winked at you and smiled.

“Why are you like this?” You huffed and grabbed your swimsuit from the bag. “I packed my own. I have some money you know. There’s a thing called stashed cash that credit stealers can’t get to.”

Erik clenched his jaw.

“Why would you spend the cash that you have? What if you need it for emergencies? What about the card I gave you?” He approached you menacingly, his height towering over you.

“I used it for my rent like you said to. Why would I use it for anything else?” You responded calmly. Seeing Erik like this over money was normal for you. But what you didn’t realize was the difference this time had, was you.

“Use it for everything. I’m not arguing with you. Save your cash for something important.”

You struggled not to roll your eyes. Erik always got his way, and you weren’t going to be the one to stop him this time.

“Okay DAD. Jeez. I’m gonna go to the pool and use it to buy myself some drinks. You know relax a little before I really have to commit to being married to your demanding ass.”

And of course Erik being Erik, he had to get the last word in. “Yeah, I’m daddy alright. You're gonna find out real soon, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the bathroom and changed into your bikini and cover up. Though you usually didn’t wear one, you’d rather avoid Erik’s perverted gaze.

“Okay I’ll be back.” You grab your towel, make sure your engagement rings are on, and new designer flip flops and bounce out of the room, excited to explore the hotel.

——

After floating around in the hotel's second rooftop pool, you decide to head to the bar to get the cold alcoholic drink you’d been dying for in this heat. You ask the bartender for the drink that you want, then reach into your pool bag to pull out the card Erik gave you. You stop short when you see cash slid across the table in front of you.

You turn to the guy next to you to thank him, to assure him that you can pay for yourself. You stop yourself in your tracks making eye contact with a very handsome man. A bashful smile comes over your face.

“Thank you. But I can pay for myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to though. A beautiful girl like yourself, shouldn’t even be alone.”

“Awe you’re sweet but I’m not alone.” You flashed your ring and smiled proudly.

“Damn that’s too bad. All the cute ones are always taken.” The man sticks out his hand. “I’m Jordan by the way. I own quite a bit of real estate out here. I’m in accounting too. Call me if you’re ever looking to get something out here. I’ll hook you up.”

A polite smile crosses your face as you take his card. A frown quickly replaces it as another hand snatches the card before it’s completely in your hand.

“Babygirl, did you get your drink?” You look up to see the wickedest smile on Erik’s face, his eyes bright with anger. His almost naked chest covered with nothing more than a muscle tee. You look down to see him in swim trunks, a smile crossing your face at the thought of him playing around in the pool with you.

“Almost babe. They are making it now.” You nodded to the bartender who was putting the finishing touches on your drink. Your mouth watered at the thought of it. You were so focused on the drink you didn’t even notice the hard stare Erik was giving Jordan until he cleared his throat.

“Sorry baby, this is Jordan, a real estate agent. Jordan, this is my bos-“ you felt Erik pinch your thigh, hard. You felt your cheeks heat up as you realized your mistake. “I’m sorry my husband. He can be a bit bossy.” You tried to save it but the curious look on Jordan’s face told you otherwise.

“Nice to meet you. She’s loyal, wouldn’t even let me buy her a drink.” Jordan smirked as he shook Erik’s hand. Erik wrapped his arm around you tightly, his hand resting gently under your breast.

“Yeah well she has the card I just gave her so there’s no reason for that.” Erik pressed a kiss to your neck as you sipped on the delicious drink placed in front of you. You squealed in response to his touch almost dropping your drink. You turn to Erik to scold him when you see his stare is still on Jordan. Quickly you realize you need to diffuse the situation.

“Babe you have to try this. It tastes so good.” You thrust the straw of the drink towards his lips demanding he take a sip. He sips the drink and smiles at you.

“Of course you’d get the fruitiest drink there is.” You smile cheekily at Erik and relish in the tight hold he has you in. Then glance back up at Jordan.

“Erik, Jordan said he sells real estate, maybe he could find you another place if everything goes right?” You glance back at Jordan who watches the two of you with a smile on his face.

“Sure. I have his card.” Erik waves down the waiter to close out your tab.

“Let’s go back to the room. I have another drink I wanna taste. It was nice meeting you Jamie.” You snorted at how petty he was acting.

“Jordan, baby, his name is Jordan.” Erik shrugged “That’s what I said.” Once you realized what all he said earlier you balked at his words, staring up at him wide eyed. You watch Jordan frown slightly and move away with his drink. Then you pout, wrapping your lips around your drink again.

“I wanna swim some more. And you're dressed for it come in the water with me.” You pout more and lightly grip the collar of his shirt.

“Y/N that was too close! We are fucking lucky that man was way too into you to notice that you weren’t that into me. I mean boss really?” You sigh and put your head down embarrassed. You know you fucked up and at this rate you might ruin the whole deal for the company and that thought was too much for you to bear.

“I know Erik I’m sorry. I’ll get better I promise.” You grip his shirt tighter. “Please don’t be upset with me. Let me practice right now.” You turn to wrap your arms around his neck and press a few kisses to his scruff. Your legs spread to accommodate him standing between them.

“I can do it. I won’t let you down. I won’t let the company down.” You pull his head down to level with yours before you press a passionate kiss into his lips. Getting lost in the feel of his skin against yours. Your tongue danced along the bottom of his full lip. You let out a soft moan when his hands enter the equation again. The man was freaking gifted.

A child screaming broke the spell between the two of you and you pulled away, embarrassed to be making out in public like a couple of teenagers.

Erik smirked, “Keep kissing me like that and I’ll do whatever you want.” He grabbed your hand and led you both toward the pool. He quickly jumped in with no fear of the cold water. You were much more cautious and dipped your toes in to get a feel for the water. Even though you’d just been in there the cold shock was intense. You’d definitely have to ease your way in.

“Baby!” Erik called to you. “What are you doing? Hop in!” You looked up at him and it felt like your heart skipped a beat. Erik had taken off his shirt and his skin glistened in the water. There’s no way his body could be real. You honestly couldn’t look away if you wanted to.

Erik swam to the edge of the pool, right in front of you and lightly grabbed your ankle. “C’mon.”

You shook your head, half of your brain committing the look on Erik’s face to memory. “It’s too cold. I need to slowly work my way in.” Erik ran his hands further up your leg, to the backs of your knees. He looked up into your eyes with a soft smile on his face. “You’re always so cautious, Y/N. Just jump in, just this once. I’ll catch you and ease you in the water.”

You scoffed, “There’s no way. I am not some small little thing Erik. You’re going to drop me.” Erik rolled his eyes. “Last I checked I’ve picked you up a few times and have I ever struggled to do it?” Bastard had a point. He’s never even shown any strain.

You sighed, there was really no way out of this. “Ok fine, but if you drop me…” Erik’s smile was so bright that you felt a rush of heat to your cheeks. What was this man doing to you? You took a few steps back then after a few deep breaths and Erik's quiet encouragement you jumped in. As promised he caught you before the water passed your hips. You shivered slightly as he held you above him, his laugh ringing through your ears.

"See baby? Things are a lot more fun when you aren't so cautious." He slowly lowered you in the water, watching your face and slowing down when you reacted to the cold water. Once you were at eye level you felt the energy shift around you. Erik had a strange look on his face, one you'd never seen before. He stared directly at you, his eyes bouncing between your eyes and your lips. He pulled you in closer to him and you closed your eyes anticipating the kiss.

When your lips finally met it felt a bit different, like a warm bath or a home cooked meal. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. You fought back a moan when he started nibbling at your bottom lip. You could feel yourself getting drunk off the feeling of it, completely unaware of your surroundings. Just as you were about to wrap your legs around him he pulled away and lowered you the rest of the way into the water. You looked up into his eyes, trying to figure out what to say that would break the tension in the air, but you were at a loss.

Erik smiled softly and brushed a piece of hair out of your face. “I did say things were going to change around here princess. I’m not playing games anymore.” Erik slightly splashed you and swam away quickly, you started off quickly hot on his trail. But your mind wandered back to what he just said. What the hell did that mean?

Nearby, Jordan smirked as he exited the pool deck. Who would have thought the great Erik Stevens would have to fake a marriage, and with one of his employees at that? This would definitely be useful information later on. Plus the girl on his arm was so damn tempting, he would be seeing a lot more of the both of them, that’s for sure.

Taglist:

@chaneajoyyy @wawakanda-btch @aislinnsilver @marvelmaree @ljstraightnochaser @raysunshine78 @fdwrites @soufcakmistress @girlsneedlovingfanfics @toniilaney @amira88 @bugngiz

#avengers fanfiction #erik kilmonger x reader #imagines #milk fic #milky fics #erikxreader #Erik Killmonger

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years

Text

Secrets Don’t Make Friends— Feysand AU

Prompt submission by Nonnie— Reverse fake dating au where everyone thinks you’re dating and you’re keeping it a secret, but you’re not.

Thank you to whoever sent this one in! I had an idea for Nessian, so I may post that one as well if y’all are interested!

——————————————————————————

It was another beautiful day in Velaris, and Feyre couldn't seem to focus on her newest project assignment for anything. She found herself gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the Sidra's soothing flow and mentally mixing her various paints to capture the unique color.

Unfortunately, her firm's newest client didn't care much for river paintings since they were paying for a full digital marketing overhaul. Truth be told, she didn’t hate her job as a creative director for the largest marketing firm in Velaris. It allowed her a steady income, let her flex her creativity to some capacity, and definitely kept her on her toes. She had started as a design team member with the firm several years ago upon graduating from Prythian U, and after several largely successful projects, she started to gain more responsibilities within the team. Once her team’s creative director, Amarantha, had moved on to another firm, Feyre had been promoted to her position.

She turned back to her computer screen, willing the motivation to hit her. Any moment now.

This was a typical pattern for her. Initiating a new project was always the hardest part, but once she got started, she tumbled down the proverbial rabbit hole. She just had to... start.

“Ughh,” Feyre lamented. “I wish I was halfway through this proposal already. I’m way better at that point in the project.”

”You are pretty worthless right now,” Lucien joked. Feyre offered a vulgar gesture in return, earning a hearty laugh from her friend.

Lucien left the marketing side of the firm about a year ago, itching for a different opportunity that would allow him to express himself more freely. He felt stifled by the business side of things; the numbers, the politics, the marketing director he worked under. Tamlin hadn’t been the absolute worst to him, but his leadership style didn’t align well with Lucien for the long-term. He had ended up as a member of Feyre’s team and seemed to fill a void they weren’t aware they had.

“I can’t be that mad at you, to be honest. You’re not wrong,” she replied. “Maybe I need caffeine to get out of the post-lunch slump.”

”Someone say caffeine?”

Rhysand Vila approached, perching on the corner of Feyre’s desk. He was wearing dark khaki slacks with a black button down, rolled up to the elbows. At some point, he had ditched his tie in favor of an open neckline, likely free of meetings for the rest of the day. His casual appearance didn’t readily identify him as one of the firm’s most successful marketing directors, but his authenticity was one of the things that extended his influence the most.

Rhysand’s marketing team often collaborated with Feyre’s creative one, and they managed to create some of the most well-balanced projects within the firm. They worked so flawlessly together that they were starting to become almost exclusively paired, much to the chagrin of some of the other teams. Not only were their proposals solid, their presentations were engaging and convincing. Their perspectives on the projects, combined with their mutual respect of the other’s contributions, presented a solid, united front that built trust with their clients.

Through long work hours and multiple business trips across Prythian, Rhysand had become one of Feyre’s dear friends. When they’d originally started working together, his cockiness had grated her nerves to the nth degree, but she realized over time that it was mostly in jest. In truth, Rhysand was kind-hearted, cared deeply for the people in his life, and an incredibly supportive partner on client projects.

They’d fallen into a comfortable kind of friendship, and they’d only gotten closer with time. He’d confided in her about the toxic relationship he and Amarantha had foolishly found themselves in, and he’d listened to her never-ending rants about her brief coupling with Tamlin, nothing but understanding all over his face.

“I think a coffee run is a necessity,” Feyre said, playfulness dancing across her features.

“I left my wallet in my desk. I’ll go grab it. Meet you at the elevator?” Rhysand asked as he walked backward toward his office.

“Sounds good!” she replied. She turned to Lucien. “You coming?”

He had an odd look on his face, smirk included. She gave him a questioning look, and he let out a low chuckle. “Nah. But if I give you my card, will you grab something for me?”

”Why wouldn’t you just come? I’m not your coffee bitch, Vanserra.” That earned a full laugh.

”And I would never assume you to be. If I’m going to take a break, I don’t feel like being third wheel, is all.” The confused look returned to her face, and he continued. “Feyre, stop. It’s not my company either of you want on this little coffee date. You and Rhysand can go about your charade with anyone else, but you’re not getting that shit by me. It’s fine— you two are great together. I just can’t figure out why you insist on the secret.”

Feyre’s expression morphed into a stunned one, and it took her a few seconds to decide on a response. She and Rhysand had never crossed any lines beyond platonic, so all of this was news to her.

”Luce, I’m not sure who your source was for that little nugget of info, but don’t trust them with anything incredibly important in the future. They’re way off,” she assured him. “Text me your coffee order.”

She made her way to the elevator, finding Rhysand propped against the wall on his shoulder. He was scrolling through his phone, stray black hair falling across his brow, looking as if he couldn’t be bothered by the work day. Once the elevator made it to their floor, they stepped inside and found themselves sharing with Morrigan Reina. She was head of Human Resources, absolutely stunning, and Rhysand’s cousin. She had to admit, their genetic pool was quite impressive, all things considered. She was his opposite in every way with her brown eyes and blonde hair, but they shared immaculate bone structure and a certain elegance. Objectively speaking.

“Well, hi! This elevator ride just got way more fun. How’s is going, Rhysie? Fey?” Her dark eyes sparkled, dancing over Rhysand’s face. She raised her eyebrows at him slightly, silently communicating with him in that way only family can.

”Oh, come off it, Mor. We’re on a coffee run. Care to join?” Something in his tone seemed oddly like a challenge. She realized she hadn’t yet answered Morrigan but felt like a response of “Doing well” would seem out of context, since Rhys had already transitioned away from greetings. She deciding on standing there awkwardly, pretending not to feel incredibly intimidated by this woman in the elevator.

“So sweet of you, but I’ll have to take a rain check. This is my floor actually. Unfortunately, I have a termination meeting to attend. Have some for me!” She brushed her cheek against his in a mock kiss. “Good seeing you, Feyre!” She disappeared so quickly that Feyre started to doubt if she was ever there in the first place.

“Awfully prickly with your dear cousin this afternoon, Rhysie,” she teased.

”Well, dearest Mor can be quite the busy body and likes to think she knows all of my secrets.” He gave a small eye roll, but the smirk on his face gave his affection away.

“You have my attention. I think it’s only fair that I’m let in on this little secret.”

She swore the tops of his bronze ears turned slightly pink. “I assure you I’m not that interesting, Feyre Darling.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimed, and they were walking into their building’s lobby. The coffee shop was right next door, so they made their way there quickly. Within 10 minutes, they had their coffees in hand and were sharing an elevator with a small crowd on their way back to work. Feyre regretted that she wasn’t able to press Rhys for his secrets anymore but supposed it was for the best.

He took the long way to his office in order to drop her off at her desk. She set Lucien’s coffee down on his desk with just enough force to startle him out of his work, earning a laugh from Rhys. Lucien simply glared at her before mumbling his thanks and taking a long pull of coffee.

“Well, Feyre Darling, this is where I leave you.”

Lucien eyed her over his coffee lid, lowering it slowly as he paid full attention to their exchange.

Feyre chuckled, ignoring Lucien altogether. “Thanks for returning me safely. I fully intend on pulling at least one secret from you on the next trip, though. You’ve been warned.”

His violet eyes bore into hers, amusement all over his face. “Do your worst,” he replied, winking at her as he sipped his coffee and walked away.

——————————————————————————

Coffee seemed to be just the inspiration Feyre needed to hit her creative stride for the afternoon. She finally managed to land on a prospective theme for the new account, and she was busy making some rough sketches on her drawing tablet. A booming voice called out to her from down the hall, and she recognized it immediately as Tamlin. Of course he would recruit her attention once she was finally feeling productive.

“Feyre, could you come down as soon as you’re free? I’d like you to do a consult with Ianthe.”

She forced herself to refrain from rolling her eyes, trying her best to be diplomatic.

“Sure, Tamlin. Be there in a bit.”

He hesitated at his office door, poorly masking his impatience when she didn’t immediately jump out of her chair. Typical.

She was already annoyed at his loud declaration across the office that he was asking her to give feedback on another creative director’s work. She didn’t feel particularly protective over Ianthe. It was just poor form, and it set the tone for resentment with no true reason.

Finally, she stood and made her way to his office. He was in his office chair, Ianthe pointing to various items of interest on a flat screen mounted to the wall. She greeted Feyre politely, but it didn’t seem like she was all to keen on getting her feedback.

“What can I help with?” Feyre offered.

“I wanted to see what you thought about the account we’re working on. Considering that you’ve been monopolized by Vila for months, I thought I could at least get a brief consult,” he explained.

Feyre decided to mentally count how many underhanded comments she’d endure over the course of this meeting.

One.

”Sure. What’s up?”

Ianthe launched into the cliff notes of her project, Tamlin contributing nothing the entire time.

“I’m sure you’re probably swamped with whatever you’re working on Feyre, so I appreciate you taking time to look at what I’ve put together.” Ianthe seemed genuine enough. She wasn’t sure if she trusted her, but she felt bad for her all the same.

Before she could respond, Tamlin inserted himself. “Oh, she’s definitely seems busy. Just not sure how much of it is work-related.” Her head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. She steadied herself and turned her attention back to Ianthe to try and keep this meeting on track.

Two.

”Honestly, Ianthe, I think you have a great proposal overall. My only suggestion is that you consider a different color focus. Your primary color for the logo is red, and that happens to be the main color of their largest competitor’s logo as well,” she stated, ignoring Tamlin entirely.

He started to say something about her input, but she quickly interrupted him.

“How unfortunate that the person responsible for doing the relevant market research into any competitors didn’t think that to be relevant intel to bring to the project,” she finished, eyes gravitating back to Tamlin’s face.

”Good catch,” Ianthe said simply.

“It’s happened to me before, too. Don’t create too much additional work for yourself. Maybe see about pulling one of your coordinating colors forward instead, and see how that plays out. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

”I’m not sure how you’ve managed to convince Vila to do all that extra legwork on your behalf, but it sounds like you’re awfully convincing,” Tamlin seethed. He couldn’t help himself, it seemed.

Three.

It was quiet for several uncomfortable seconds. As if on cue, her savior himself appeared in Tamlin’s doorway, a friendly smile on his face just for her. He knocked with his knuckle as he glanced around the room.

“Sorry for interrupting. Feyre, could you stop by my office before you head out today? Nothing big. Our last account sent an email asking for some minor changes, and I wanted to get your input before I tell them anything,” he said.

“Of course, Rhys. I’ll be there in a second,” she replied. He gave her one of his dazzling smiles, that rogue strand of hair kissing his brow yet again. When he walked away, she immediately felt compelled to follow him, as if he took the light straight out of the room when he left.

“You may go, Ianthe,” Tamlin stated dryly. She quickly excused herself, repeating her thanks to Feyre on the way out.

“You realize you two are partners— she doesn’t work for you.”

“Our dynamic is hardly your business, Feyre.” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but she hated the way he spoke to people who worked with him. It had always bothered her.

“Says the guy who all but insinuated that I’m putting out to get Rhys to be a good partner on projects. You’re unbelievable.”

“All of the speculation that circulates around this office regarding you and Rhysand, and you’re caught on what I’ve said? Feyre, sweetie. I thought we were past this.”

”It seems as though the lot of you aren’t busy enough if you have all this time to discuss whether Rhys and I have some secret affair happening under your noses. Maybe if you put half that effort into your job duties, you’d be an almost decent partner to Ianthe,” she snapped.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with me and Ianthe. We’ll work together in whatever way works for us. Plus, you basically belong to Rhys now, so you won’t have to worry over having to work with the likes of me.” The way he mockingly said Rhys’ name made her want to punch him in the throat.

She turned on her heel to leave, so angry that she didn’t trust herself to respond professionally. Once she got to the doorway, she found the words rolling off her tongue without a conscious thought.

“I ‘belong’ to no one. Your problem is that you see people as assets rather than building relationships. You should consider incorporating a little humanity into your leadership. You may find yourself a little less miserable to work for or be around. From now on, Ianthe can address me directly if she needs me. You, sir, can fuck off.”

——————————————————————————

Feyre made her way directly to Rhysand’s office, still fuming. She probably needed a quick break on the roof to clear her head, but it was already 4:30. She didn’t want to make Rhys stay late so that she could pout properly. Although, he’d probably do that for her if she asked.

She approached his door, knocking lightly when she saw he was on the phone. He waved her in as he finished his call. He let out a polite chuckle at whomever was on the line, and she wondered how even his contrived laughter sounded almost musical.

“Absolutely. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow. Bye.” He placed the receiver of his office phone into the cradle and faced her fully.

“Hey there, Feyre Darling. Thanks for saving some time for me today. I hope I didn’t overstep, but I wasn’t sure when if I’d be able to catch you later.” He leaned back in his chair, propped his elbow on the arm rest, and cupped his large hand to run it over his face. So he was tired, too.

Feyre let out a low chuckle. “You’re my hero, basically. Your timing was absolutely perfect. Never hesitate to interrupt if Tamlin is the person I’m talking to.”

His bright, violet eyes seemed to linger on her face. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you laugh again,” he mused. “It’s become one of my favorite sounds, I think.”

She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face, and she found one mirrored on his own. She cleared her throat, unsure how to tame the butterflies she was experiencing at his words.

“Shall we?” She motioned to his computer, and he nodded. She pulled her chair to his desk so that she could see, but he forced her to switch with him, insisting she take control of moving through the project.

She wasn’t sure if she was reading way too much into the weird comments she had heard today about her and Rhys, but she was acutely aware of his thigh so close to hers. It was far enough that they weren’t flush, but she could feel the heat radiating off of him in the most distracting way.

He already had the project pulled up on the screen and asked her to move through the document to the place of the proposed changes. He reached across her slightly to point at something, and she was instantly immersed in his scent. She found it oddly comforting, if she was honest with herself.

“So what do you think? Is it a simple fix? Or would this be something beyond the originally contracted rate? If it’s going to take you some time, I think it’s appropriate that we negotiate an additional fee, especially considering we’ve just initiated another large account.”

”Mmm. It’s been a while. Mind if I play with it for a minute?” she asked.

”Yeah, for sure. Take your time,” he said, leaning back in his chair as she worked.

Several minutes passed in excruciating silence, causing Feyre to break out in nervous laughter.

“You can talk to me, you know. It’s eerily quiet in here,” she joked.

He huffed a laugh. ”Hmm, okay. Anything particularly interesting around the office today?”

She thought immediately of her conversations with Lucien and Tamlin, and she couldn’t help but include their interaction with Mor in the elevator on the list. It really was such a weird day.

She worked for a couple of seconds before she replied. “It was quite the day, to say the least. I learned a lot about myself via the grapevine.”

”You mean to tell me there’s gossip in this office?”

”This very one,” she replied through a laugh.

“This is the part where you tell me what’s been said about you, Darling.”

She big her bottom lip, nervous of how he would react. “Well, it’s not exclusive to me. It has to do with you, too.” Her eyes never left the computer screen as she spoke.

“I like how that looks,” he said in regard to her edits, jumping straight back into their original conversation. “Now you have to tell me, especially if I’m involved.”

He offered a small poke to her ribs, laughing at her jerking away from him and the glare it earned. “Spill, Archeron.”

Before she could chicken out, she described her interaction with Lucien prior to their coffee run. He went entirely still as she spoke, eyes trained on the screen. When she finished, he said, “I see. I bet Lucien thinks he’s quite clever, then... Oh wait, I like that better.” He pointed to a small change she made.

He seemed so indifferent, and despite her attempts to the contrary, it bothered her that he was acting so cavalier. She had to check herself, remembering how ridiculous she had found the comments only a handful of hours ago. It was certainly unfair to have expectations of him being that she had barely finished processing this afternoon’s events.

“Yeah, I guess he’s pretty proud of himself. I don’t know how much he believed me when I told him he was off-base, but time will tell, I guess.” She immediately launched into her interaction with Tamlin, outlining the full interaction for him.

His jaw was tense throughout the story, and she could see his shoulders tighten when she would share a particularly tasteless thing Tamlin said. They tended to stay out of each others’ ways, so sometimes it was easy to forget how much animosity existed between the two of them. She finished the entire story, and decided to wrap up everything in a brief summary.

”So yeah, according to Lucien and Tamlin, you and I are hiding a super secret little office affair. But apparently we’re really bad at it, because everyone knows.” She let out a long breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding. His response was swift.

“Well, that’s fucking ridiculous.” He stated, so matter of fact. “Go back to that one really quick— if you don’t mind.” His eyes never left the screen. All business, all of a sudden.

Okay. Now, his indifference stung. She thought she knew Rhysand well enough that he would cushion the blow better than this if he were totally shooting her down. She didn’t like how detached he was, and come to think of it, it’s not like she had offered herself to him anyway. For all he knew, she could find the idea of them dating totally repulsive.

“You could do a lot worse for yourself, you know,” she said, anger bubbling to the service. She saw his head snap toward her, but she refused to look at him.

”What?”

”I know you could walk out of this office and take your pick, but you could do worse for yourself than me. It can’t be that ‘fucking ridiculous’.” She clenched her jaw to force herself to stop talking and breathe.

He sat there looking at her, his attention to the project entirely derailed.

“Feyre...” he started.

”It’s late. I’ll finish looking at this tomorrow. Could you save the changes and upload to the cloud? I think I can make quick work of it.”

”Would you look at me, please?”

She let go of the computer mouse and covered her face with both hands. She rubbed her face roughly as she spoke.

“I’m just tired, Rhysand. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just forget I said anything. Really, I’m okay.” She didn’t want to see the pity in his face or listen to any explanations. She just needed to get out of there.

She felt one of his hands grip softly around the wrist closest to him as he turned the chair to get her to face him. She kept her face covered, leaning forward, and he had the nerve to laugh softly at her.

“You are such a stubborn, difficult woman sometimes, Feyre Darling.” He gripped her other wrist with his free hand and pulled her hands away from her face. She was too tired to fight him on it, so she let him. She fixed her gaze on his thighs, not entirely prepared for what his expression would show.

“Please look at me,” he whispered. She melted at the tone of his voice, imploring her to make eye contact, and raised her eyes to meet his.

He rubbed slow circles on the sensitive underside of her wrists as he spoke. “In no way, is the idea of me being with you ridiculous. What is so ridiculous to me, Darling, is the idea that I could ever be with you and delude myself into thinking I could keep it a secret,” he murmured, the sincerity in his expression overwhelming her. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, readying himself to finish. “Cauldron, Feyre. If you ever let me love you... I wouldn’t have it in me to contain it.”

She was frozen in her chair, in total disbelief. Once she finally regained control of herself, she reached her hand up to smooth his hair back into place. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact.

“That piece of hair has been driving me insane all day long,” she whispered. She was closer now, so much closer to him than she had ever been. She dropped her hand back to her lap to find his again.

His eyes popped open, traveling across her face and landing on her full lips. She watched his tongue dart out of his mouth slightly to wet his own before she regained eye contact. She leaned forward a little more, his hand coming up to brush her hair behind her ear. He cupped her face, running his thumb across her cheek.

“Feyre?” It was barely a whisper, but it was everything.

She subtly nodded her head, and his lips were on hers. He was slow, near reverent as he kissed her, and she leaned in to him, craving more contact. He slid his hand a little farther back so that his fingers could find their home in her hair, just behind her ear. She braced her hand on his forearm, and he pulled her face into his, only slightly, to deepen the kiss.

She let out a quiet whimper as Rhys angled himself to better capture her mouth, and just like that, she was gone. She no longer registered that they were in Rhys’ office or that his door was still open from when she arrived. As far as she was concerned, the world began and ended with them.

They both missed the quick footsteps as Lucien passed by on his way back to his desk from a meeting. They were entirely unaware of his halt as he realized what he’d witnessed and his prompt back peddling. It was when they heard his quiet rasp that they startled, breaking apart only millimeters.

”I fucking knew it!” he whisper-screamed, obviously pleased with himself.

True to Rhysand’s nature, he seemed totally unfazed by Lucien’s discovering them. He brushed his nose over Feyre’s, a grin spreading across his beautiful face.

”Fuck off, Lucien,” he crooned playfully.

His mouth was on hers yet again, neither of them noticing the soft click of the door as Lucien backed out of the office.

——————————————————————————

Just a bit of Feysand fluff for y’all! Feel free to keep the prompts coming, and let me know if you have a particular pairing or mood in mind ☺️

If you’d like to be added to my tag list, you can comment, shoot me an ask, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!

Tags (Masterlist):

@polireader // @justgiu12 // @hizqueen4life // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @bookstantrash // @gisellefigue08 // @maastrash

#feysand #feysand au #feysand fluff #acotar #acowar #acomaf #sjm #feysand fanfic

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bloededhoine · 3 years

Note

hi! I loved the last headcanons I requested so I'm sending more, hope u don't mind and sorry if this is late and if it is not Friday for u anymore. ☾, ■ and ♡ for Morvran (coz the one u wrote is the most amazing thing) and ✿ for Ves. Thank you so much and btw I abolutely love your witcher memes

you sent this 6 november. it is currently 12 december (by time i finished it its 11 january on my god) i am so fucking sorry but here you go! also the ves one.. yes.

☾ - sleep headcanon

■ - bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

✿ - sex headcanon

list

sleep headcanon

morvran is generally a pretty light sleeper, to the point where someone walking loudly outside will wake him up

so, he takes it upon himself to be properly tired before he goes to bed so he'll sleep through the night

this is usually accomplished by riding (a horse or a diplomat? who's to say)

good god it's the third bullet point how did i already make this sexual

alright...

he totally gives me monogrammed matching pyjama set vibes

like they're a mahogany coloured silk with a little MV embroidered in cursive

ciri loves making fun of them

but he's comfy DAMNIT

he sleepwalks... and didn't think it worth mentioning until emhyr hired a witcher to deal with the palaces supposed wraith problem...and of course he didn't want the city of golden towers to have a reputation as a hotbed for monsters.... but he eventually decided he liked his status as the local ghost

he keeps a dream diary.

like most of these hcs are based on tiny details in some obscure translation, but trust me bro morvran voorhis keeps a dream diary

he plays the dapper dude game, but with enough sambuca he will absolutely tell you why journaling your dreams is the most important thing you can do

he wears slippers. i know this for a fact. they match his pyjamas and he leaves them right next to his bed every night

of course, this started with morvran's father making sure he was always prepared for a quick getaway

even after the assassination he just couldn't shake the habit. he also always stays on the ground or first floor and won't fall asleep in a room unless the windows open from the inside. precautions, you know?

great now i'm sad

bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

okay here's the thing you need to understand about morvran voorhis: he did not have any autonomy for the first 20 odd years of his life

growing up in the imperial palace doesn't leave a lot of room for individuality. sure, he had expensive toys, soft fabrics, and the nicest governesses and most intelligent tutors in the empire, but none of it was his

even after his father died, he couldn't leave because he was getting married off to some girl he'd never even met!

so, by time he had command of the alba division and, by extension, his own life, he got creative

i'm talking a tapestry of his favoured stallion that takes up an entire wall

and a custom plaque of the merchant's guild insignia on the mantle

and a hook right next to his bed to put his medallion

and his own gwent card, framed

and a map of nilfgaard he annotates himself, with markings such as "bastard who stole fire scorpion, cheats with scoia'tael deck", "pretty girl witcher", "annoying witcher", "guild army contact", "actual 25 centimetres, take portal or carriage"

and a desk he never actually uses because it's too orderly and looks too nice to mess up

should all those mismatched patriotic and egotistical things look good together? no, no they should not. but do they?? fuck to the yes! our mans knows the importance of a colour scheme!

when you first walk in his quarters, it looks kind of like most of the others in alba, except with a few extra empty coffee mugs

but he HAS THOSE MOTHERFUCKING DETAILS

i don't know why i'm so invested in this i just fucking KNOW it's true

he's a neat freak. i feel like we all knew this.

there's a designated spot for everything, and don't you dare mess up the system

also if you drip water on his rug he will 100% throw your ass out onto the street

romantic headcanon

now, i'm almost exclusively romantically attracted to women, but i would marry voorhis and not just for the money

he definitely has a huge romantic streak that he really loves indulging. buying flowers, writing love letters, all of that, he genuinely enjoys it

yes, he's a busy man, but he makes the little moments count! he definitely bugs assire for a new xenovox like every week because he breaks them so often

morvran voorhis is a massive flirt. i will not be taking questions

i told myself i wouldn't work in my voorhis used to be a sex worker hc in this, but you know what he did and that's important to him!

the flirting is definitely an issue in relationships, especially with people who didn't know him before he was a commander.

i'm not saying he's two faced, he just has very distinct business and pleasure personas that he doesn't want to mix

he also sees relationships as fairly contractual. he gave those diplomats a little of ~this~ because it helped him succeed. somewhere along the way he began to enjoy the feelings of courting someone, but it was largely because he knows you're always better at work you enjoy.

ciri has called him out on it a few times... he was not happy

how dare you ask this man to be vulnerable he is a BOTTOM

but i honestly think that if there is someone he wants, he will make himself worthy of them. voorhis is nothing if not confident and determined, and i think those are more powerful than the massive daddy issues and praise kink

he really just puts in effort and concern to all aspects of a relationship

like dates? unreal

he always starts by going to the vegelbud estate, partly because he is desperate for his peers' approval and partly because he wants to see if this lucky person is a good match

he also knows all the places around the estate where wildflowers grow. i told you he's a romantic.

sex headcanon

i'm about to be incredibly gay on main oh good god jimmy don't read this please

ves is a dom and a top. acceptable titles include Sir, Master, or Lieutenant and you better fucking use them

ves definitely gets around. i mean, just look at her. the energy is immaculate and she knows what she's doing

overstim. just... one is not enough. shaking is not enough. begging is not enough. being completely fucked out and not even able to manage any words while sobbing? that might do. (with consent!)

not that ves doesn't love to hear some begging, she definitely does. it's just not going to motivate or demotivate her to do anything, she already has it all planned out

that plan includes hearing someone beg for her strap even as she's deep enough inside them they can feel it in their belly

good god i'm really exposing all my kinks

anyways let's keep it going!

she's an amazing rigger

not just in technique, she knows exactly when to be gentle versus firm and create art out of a body and some ropes

ves bites

just grabbing a handful of hair and tilting their head back so she can leave marks on their throat... mmhm yeah

i think she fucked geralt

like yeah you can have her fuck geralt in assassins of kings but i think she just did it anyway cause she was bored and smelled a bottom

he had a very good time

ves was eh

geralt's just far more submissive than ves's usual partners. i mean, she's used to handling 5 temerian guerillas. a singular witcher isn't even a challenge

surprisingly, she's quiet. spending 80% of her day within earshot of her father figure made this more of a necessity, but she can fashion an excellent gag for any parties who aren't worried about all of temeria hear them

#the witcher #wild hunt #tw3 #assassins of kings #tw2 #ves #geralt of rivia #cirilla fiona elen riannon #morvran voorhis #the witcher headcanons #witcher headcanons #the witcher hc #mine #voorhis tag #ves tag #malamodravila #hc tag #haven't got a fucking queue

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

Text

Worth the Wait

Author: @ameliaodair

Prompt: Modern AU: Peeta and Katniss were on vacation in Argentina. Their days are up now and they’re on their way back to the US, however, a tornado alert gets them stranded in Lima, Peru. It’s Halloween and they were supposed to go trick or treating with Finnick and Annie and now here they are. What they didn’t know, is that in Peru they celebrate something called Día de la Canción Criolla, and they get swept into the joyous atmosphere. Dressing up as the locals, Everlark celebrate Halloween in a different way. [submitted by @evestedic]

Rating: T

Author’s Note: I tweaked the prompt a little, hope you still like it :) This is my first time writing for one of these, so I hope I did it right, and I hope I did the prompt justice. Enjoy :)

I always want to say thanks to my wonderful beta @eiramrelyat.

____________

Part 1

Katniss tosses her suitcase into the trunk of her car, irritated that her flight was cancelled. She promised her sister she would be home tomorrow, in time to see her niece and nephews’ costumes for their very first Halloween. If there was one thing in this world that Katniss despised, it was disappointing her baby sister.

“A tornado? Seriously, a freaking tornado in Peru! Just wonderful!” She mumbles to herself, securing her seatbelt in place. Before leaving the parking lot she reaches for her phone, browsing for somewhere to stay for a night or two; at least until she can catch the next flight home. “Great, no service.” Could anything else go wrong today? She thinks to herself, tossing her phone back into her purse.

After being stuck in traffic for nearly an hour, only going at a speed of ten miles per hour, she tries to summon the courage to call her sister. Gripping her hands firmly around the wheel and tapping her fingers nervously, she finally speaks to the car’s navigation system. “Call Prim.”

“Calling Prim” The car responds. Prim answers on the second ring, the excitement laced in her voice.

“Oh my gosh Katniss, I am so excited for you to see the twins’ costumes! Are you in the states yet? What time is your flight? Do you have an estimated arrival time? I can come and get you, or…or—"

Katniss cringes at her sister’s questions before deciding to interrupt her. “Prim, I um…there was a problem- no, there is a problem.” Katniss looks out the window, noticing how crowded the streets are, and the people seem to be dressed rather…vivaciously. ‘I wonder what that’s all about?’ She thinks to herself.

“What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m fine. It’s just that…my flight…well, it got cancelled. I mean…not ‘cancelled,’ cancelled, but more like…delayed. There’s like…a severe tornado warning or something and they’ve grounded all flights until further notice.”

‘Are they…dancing?’ Katniss thinks to herself, seeing a woman be twirled around in an immaculate dress, the dress fanning out to reveal the beautiful colors.

“Seriously? Katniiisss….” Prim whines like a toddler, elongating Katniss’s name.

“Give me a break, Prim, you’ll take a zillion pictures, we’ll facetime, and you can dress them up when I get home. They’re babies, they won’t even know the difference.”

“But I will.” Katniss despises it when Prim does this. Looking out the window again, Katniss sees a group of small kids dressed up in costumes.

‘How adorable.’ She thinks to herself, smiling.

“Come on Prim…This is totally out of my control. You know I would be there if I could. Plus, don’t you have a wonderful husband to keep you busy?”

“Yeah…I do—” Katniss can hear the smile in Prim’s voice and that always makes her happy. Even after being together for five years, Prim and Rory are still so sickening in love with each other; it would make Katniss sick if she didn’t love her sister so much. “But he’s not you. No one can replace you, big sister.”

“I know Prim—” Katniss cranes her neck out the open window to see what all the commotion is about. “Prim, I need to go…there is something…I don’t know what it is, but I’ll call you later. Take lots of pictures for me!” She says just before ending the call, not giving Prim the opportunity to make her feel any worse. As if that is even possible.

A month ago the company Katniss works for asked someone to take an impromptu trip to Argentina, just before the holiday’s no less. To have the opportunity arise to be the mediator in an attempt to merge their company with one of the hotshot rivalry companies nearby, Katniss was the first to volunteer.

With no life other than her sister and her sister’s family, Katniss had no obligations which left her the perfect candidate to leave the country. Everyone else had families they didn’t want to leave, not knowing how long it would take to do the negotiations, they did not want to risk being in another country for the holidays.

It had been almost ten years since she lost the love of her life and she had accepted the fact that you only get one of those per lifetime. She was secretly hoping for better luck in her next one. He was beautiful and he was perfect, and she thought their love transcended time and space. So what if they were only teenagers, and so what if she had not seen him in almost ten years. It did not seem to matter how many times she tried to find love, it just never felt right.

At seventeen years old, she and her sister became orphans. Social Services came to her house early one morning and loaded her and Prim into a car, refusing to allow them to say goodbye to anyone.

Katniss no longer cries from the anguish of losing him, but the agony from missing him is still as fresh as that first night. When she turned eighteen, she could have gone back to Panem, but she was too scared. What if she went back and he had moved on? Found someone else to love, got married, and…no, not knowing was better. Rejection would be worse.

Katniss hoped this trip would give her some insight as to what she might do with the rest of her life. She cannot continue to lean on Prim forever; she has her own family now.

Katniss finally makes out what the commotion is ahead of her and a smile forms on her lips when she catches sight of the herds of people dancing in the street, causing her to remember their dance competition. With him. “Dammit Katniss, stop it. Why do you keep thinking about him today?” She scolds herself before spotting a hotel across the street. She pulls into a parking space, crossing her fingers they have a vacancy, but by the looks of the massive hoards of people crowding the streets, she is not very confident.

She reaches up to her neck where her collar bone dips in, and with her thumb and forefinger, she pinches the pearl that hangs from her necklace. From him. It is the necklace he gave her on her sixteenth birthday. ‘As long as you wear this necklace, you will know how much I love you. Always.’

‘Always.’ It was their ‘thing.’ Some people made promises of forever, but not them. No, they promised for always. She remembers his exact words, and for some reason, he feels closer than ever. Close enough to touch. Something in the back of her mind says.

Shaking her head to rid her mind of the penetrating thoughts, Katniss decides to make her way into the hotel to see if there is a room available before unloading her suitcase. She locks the rental car and pushes her way through the crowded streets and into the entrance of The Holiday Inn.

Upon entering the building, Katniss is greeted by a beautiful woman with perfectly golden hair and a smile bright enough to light up the entire building. She says something in Spanish that Katniss cannot understand, confusion written all over her face.

“Crap, I left my translator in my car” Katniss mumbles under her breath after reaching over and checking her purse.

Realizing that Katniss does not understand her, the woman speaks again, this time in English, laced with a heavy accent. “Welcome to The Holiday Inn, can I interest you in a room?”

“Oh, you speak English!” Katniss says, more excited than she should be.

“Effie does not allow any of her employees to man the front desk unless they are fluent in English. We get a lot of tourists.” Madge says, explaining to her.

“Effie?” Katniss asks, finding the name strange. Like she’s one to talk.

“Effie is the boss. This is her hotel. She’s more of a designer if you ask me, but she’s famous for dressing people up for the Dia de la Canción Criolla! She will be knocking on your door within the next hour!”

“Dia day what?” Katniss asks, not hearing what Madge said due to how fast the words seemed to escape her mouth.

“Dia De La Canción Criolla. It is a celebration of Criolla music. There will be dancing, lots of dancing! And music, yes…beautiful music! You should come, it’s so much fun!” Madge tells her with stars in her eyes, as if she is remembering a heartfelt moment.

“Oh, well…I’ll think about it.” Katniss says timidly, giving Madge a smile.

Katniss is thrilled the hotel has a vacancy and hands Madge her credit card to confirm her room for the night. While she waits for the transaction to process, she and Madge make small talk. Madge returns her credit card and ID along with the plastic key card with the numbers ‘12-13’ displayed on the front, as well as a brochure.

“If you take these elevators up to the twelfth floor and make a quick right, room thirteen will be on your left. Here is a list of amenities as well as numbers if there is anything you need. And Katniss?”

“Yes?”

“You should come out for the night. You only live once.”

With a polite smile, Katniss nods her head, turning her back to Madge to retrieve her suitcase from her car.

Nearly half an hour later, she returns to the hotel with her suitcase in tow and steps onto the elevator. Just as the doors begin to close, she spots a man running, trying to catch the elevator before the doors close. Katniss presses the button to keep the elevator open, but she is just a moment too late. With a mind of its own, the doors seal themselves shut, rising her up to the twelfth floor.

‘Why do I keep thinking about him today? Why does he feel so close to me? I’m in Peru for Heavensbee’s sake!’ Katniss says smiling to herself, reaching for the pearl again. ‘Heavensbee’s sake’ was one of ‘their’ inside jokes. “Perhaps this ‘Dia De La…whatchamacallit is just the thing I need to distract my mind from him. And who knows what’ll happen.” She mumbles to herself, entering her hotel room.

When the door slams shut behind her, she hears the distinct ‘ding’ from the elevator. ‘Whoever that man was must have made it up.’ She thinks to herself, recalling the flash of blonde hair, with those bouncing blonde waves, just like him. ‘No, stop it. He is not here Katniss. It has been ten years. Ten years. You should be over him by now. So, just…Get over it.’

But she’s not, and she can’t.

Freshly out of the shower, with one towel wrapped around her body and another one on the top of her head, she reaches for the phone and proceeds to call the number Madge had given her. She needs to do something to distract her mind. She is going to celebrate Dia De La Canción Criolla like a Peruvian.

“Give me a break Dad. It’s Halloween, it’s not even really a holiday. The bakery will survive if I’m gone for another few days.”

“I know kid, I know. I’m sorry…I just…you know…I miss you. You’ve been gone for like—”

“Two weeks. I have been gone for two weeks. And I will be home in a few more days. Control over the weather is not a power I have homed in on as of yet.” Peeta’s dad chuckles at his words but is still disappointed. “Listen dad, as soon as they open the flights back up, the airline promised to call me, and I’ll be on the first flight back to the states. Now look, I’ve gotta go, the streets here are insane and I need to find a place to crash for the night. I’ll let you know when to pick me up.”

“Okay, son. Oh, and Peet?”

“Yeah, dad?”

“Try to have some fun.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll try. I’ve gotta go, bye dad.” Peeta ended the call before giving his father any more fuel to drag the call on longer.

Peeta woke up that morning with an uncanny feeling that something was wrong. When he got to school that morning and she wasn’t there, that feeling in his stomach intensified. They talked to each other every day before and after school. She was his best friend, and he was hers. They told each other everything, so when he still had not heard from her by dinner that night, he knew deep in his gut something was wrong. Really wrong.

The next day, Magnolia, one of her sister’s friends, came to him asking if he had heard anything from either of the girls. For two days now, both girls have been missing from school. Magnolia did not know it, but she had just confirmed the gut-wrenching fear in the pit of his stomach.

For days, Peeta hounded the adults to no avail, questioning anyone he could as to her whereabouts. She would never just up and leave without telling him, at least not without saying goodbye.

After two weeks, Peeta’s father realized that Peeta needed answers, that he would not be able to rest until he knew what happened to her, so using his connections he was able to obtain some information. Peeta cried in his father’s arms as he told him what happened. Social services came that morning, came before the sun was even up, and basically kidnapped the girls. Both of their parents died in a car accident and at sixteen and a half years old, she took over the role of mom and dad to her little sister. Apparently, someone placed an anonymous call, claiming to be “worried,” about the girls, hence social service ripping them from their lives.

For years, Peeta tried to find her. But when his father lost his job, they had to relocate to another state. Peeta did not want to leave if by some chance she came back looking for him, but he was only a kid himself, so he didn’t have a choice.

At one point, he hired a private investigator, but so far; nothing has come up. All his friends and family keep insisting he “move on,” But he just couldn’t, he can’t. “You don’t just move on from your soulmate, from your one true love” he told them all. There is no one else, only her. If I am not with her, then I will just be alone. One day, he will find her, he is certain of it.

“I know I’m probably asking the impossible, but would you happen to have a room for one?” Peeta asks once he reaches the desk, giving the beautiful girl his most charming smile.

“Oh, don’t let the streets fool you, sir. It’s Día De La Canción Criolla, the Peruvian festival of Music. And to answer your question, yes, in fact we do.” The receptionist, Madge, proceeded to tell him with her heavy accent and dazzling smile, staring at the computer screen in front of her, typing away.

A few minutes later, Madge hands him his plastic key card to his room in the penthouse along with a brochure filled with amenities, phone numbers, and information about this “Dia De La Canción Criolla.”

“Since you are already here sir, you should come out tonight and check it out. Have some fun.” Have some fun, those were his father’s exact words.

But dancing…especially that kind of dancing brought him back to memories of her. She was the captain of the dance club in high school and she convinced him to enter a couple’s dance competition with her. Never able to tell her no, he agreed. He was never as good as her, but where he lacked, she excelled. It was like that with everything they did. They picked up each other’s slack. When one was weak, the other was strong. Always.

As he is scribbling his signature on the consent form to bill him at checkout, for just a split microsecond he thinks he sees her. Heading onto the elevator is a woman with the same shade of hair, in that same over the shoulder braid she would wear, and the same olive complexion. It had been almost ten years since the last time he saw her face, ten years since the last time his lips touched hers, but he is certain that one-hundred years could go by…no, a thousand years could pass, and he would always know her. Always.

Once his ‘T’s’ are crossed, he politely excuses himself from the receptionist, and runs to the elevator. He can’t make her face out as the doors slide shut, but he can tell she tried to hold the door for him, but it was too late. The elevator has a mind of its own and she slipped through his fingers.

“It’s not her, it couldn’t possibly be.” He tells himself, his head hanging down as he presses the button and waits for the elevator. He rides up to the twelfth floor and as soon as the doors open, he hears a door slamming from around the corner. He finds his room, walks into it, and plops down on the bed.

Lying back on the bed, something in Peeta’s pocket begins poking his thigh. He reaches into his pocket and grips firmly onto the pocket watch that he always keeps with him. From her.

At fifteen years old, he began saving his earnings from working at the bakery for eight months in order to buy her that necklace. When he first saw it hanging in the shop, he knew he just had to have it. He knew it was made just for her. It had been sitting in his underwear drawer for almost two weeks before he gave it to her on her sixteenth birthday. His gift brought tears to her eyes because of what it meant.

She wanted to give him something too, but he insisted that it doesn’t work that way. You do not give a gift to someone because they gave you something. That was the first time she said those three magical little words. She told him, “I’m not giving this to you because you gave me this necklace, I’m giving this to you…I want you to have this because I love you.” It was her father’s, a gift from her mother. It meant the world to her, so he knew what she was saying before she even said the words.

“Dammit Peeta! Get a grip. It isn’t her, I’m in Peru for Heavensbee’s sake! An entire country away!” Peeta yells at himself, confused as to why she is on his mind so hard today.

Peeta jumps into the shower, having decided that maybe he will join the festivities, if for nothing else, then to distract his mind from her. He picks up the brochure and places a call to one of the names Madge had recommended. If he is going to a Peruvian festival…(or is it a party?), he is going to need something to wear.

Part 2

“Hi Katniss, my name is Cinna and I’ll be your stylist.” Katniss lets the man in that Effie had recommended helping her find something to wear for tonight.

“Come in, it’s nice to meet you Cinna, I’m Katniss.” Katniss sticks her hand out to Cinna, but he ignores it and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace. He then pulls back and circles around her, inspecting her from all angles.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Cinna asks after he finishes orbiting her once.

“What gave it away? My accent? Or the constant look of confusion permanently embedded on my face?” Cinna chuckles at her, deciding that he is going to like this girl. She is something special.

“I’ve met everyone who comes through here, and I am certain I would remember a face as radiant as yours,” Cinna says, noticing the rosy hue filling Katniss’s cheeks. There is a knock on the door, startling Katniss. Cinna reaches for the doorknob and opens the door, and three strange-looking people come bouncing in. Their hair is quite flamboyant, they wear some rather vivid and strange colors, but they look at Cinna as if he were the sun. But most importantly, they seem truly happy to be here, to help her.

“Katniss, these are my assistants, and they will be helping me in getting you ready for tonight.”

“Okay. But, you do realize that I’m dressing up for this Dia de la Festival thing and not my wedding, right?”

“Dia de la Canción Criolla.” Octavia, one of Cinna’s assistants says so fast, Katniss only heard gibberish.

“How do you guys say that so fast?”

‘I wonder if they do this often?’ Katniss thinks to herself when Flavius, another of Cinna’s assistants rolls in this cart filled with the most immaculate, dazzling dresses, shoes, and so many other accessories Katniss would never dream of wearing.

They get right down to business, no dilly-dallying. Katniss tries on dress after dress for what felt like hours, only to have them settle on the first dress, much to Katniss’s irritation. Each dress takes all four of them to help her into, which Katniss could not begin to fathom why it was so difficult.

The dress they decide on is more beautiful than she is able to put into words. The upper half clings to her form, accentuating each of her womanly curves. It is a modest dress, for when she looks in the mirror, she feels beautiful, but not provocative. It shows just enough cleavage, but not too much. The skirt of the dress is loose and free-flowing, if anyone happens to twirl her around tonight, it will fan out in immaculate precession.

“Oh, Miss Katniss, just you wait till someone spins you around in this baby.” Katniss looks startled as she scowls at Flavius.

“Wh-what’ll happen?”

“I can’t give away all the secrets, now can I?” Flavius looks at her conspiratorially.

“Don’t worry Katniss, nothing bad will happen.” Cinna places a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. But it isn’t his touch that calms her, but the gentle tone of his voice. She cannot help but notice that Cinna has this natural air about him, he makes her feel calm just by entering the room.

Once they finish adding the final touches to her dress, they chain her to a chair, (figuratively speaking) and get to work on her hair.

“So, is there a special someone we’re fixing you up for the night?” Just as Cinna asks the question, Effie walks into the room.

“Oh, hello guys, don’t mind me. I just wanted to observe the divine Cinna at work!” Effie pulls up a chair, making sure she isn’t in the way, and watches as their experienced fingers intricately style Katniss’ hair.

Katniss is hypnotized as she watches four sets of hands intricately brush, comb, part, separate, and braid her hair.

Remembering Cinna’s question, Katniss blushes before saying, “Oh no. There is no one, I just…I just…Well, since I’m already here, I figured I should get the full Peruvian experience.”

“Oh, you have a man back at home, do you?” Octavia blurts out.

“No. No, there isn’t anyone. Well, once…No, never mind.”

“Awe, come on! Tell us!” Flavius pleads with her.

“PLEEEEASE!!” All three assistants beg at the same time in a sing-song voice.

Katniss hesitates for a moment, realizing there is no harm in confiding in these complete strangers, she starts. “Well, there was this one guy, once. When I was younger.”

“Ooooh, was he handsome?”

“What color were his eyes?”

They each spit out their own questions, curious to the man who once held her heart, forcing the image of his perfect face into the forefront of her mind.

“No, he was not handsome…. He was…he was beautiful. He had the bluest eyes, bluer than the ocean and the sky mixed together. And his hair…it was this sandy blonde, with just the right amount of waves, you know…not too curly but definitely not straight. He was my best friend, my soul mate. He was everything to me.”

“So, what happened?” Flavius blurts out.

“You speak of him as if you’re still in love with him,” Vennia says, giving Katniss a forlorn look.

“I got…I got ripped away from him. And I haven’t been able to find him since. But someone as amazing as him, surely he’s married with a few kids by now.” Katniss omits how she is actually too chicken to even look for him as she hangs her head down, the pain of him with someone else cut like razors.

Effie’s eyes go wide as she recognizes this story, without excusing herself, she gets up and storms out of the room in a dash.

“What was that about?” Katniss asks inquisitively.

Flavius does a motion with his hands and rolls his eyes. “Who knows? That woman is a bit cuckoo.” However, Katniss notices the knowing look being shared between Cinna and his assistants.

“Perfecto!” Vennia says once her hair is complete.

“Now, one last thing,” Octavia says, reaching for the clasp around Katniss’ neck.

Katniss spins around to face Octavia, “Wh-What are you doing?”

“I have a better one for you to wear tonight.”

“No, the necklace does not come off.” The firm tone in Katniss’s voice tells everyone not to argue.

And they don’t.

Effie storms back into Peeta’s room- the busy body she is- and pulls up a chair next to Peeta as Portia and her team get him ready for the night.

“Peeta? Will you tell me about your girl again? The one from your childhood.” Peeta raises an eyebrow, making sure to hold his head still as Portia does whatever she is doing to his hair. He isn’t sure why it is taking so long, but he doesn’t question her.

Peeta’s eyes light up at the thought of his girl. “Oh Effie, she was…she was perfect. She was the sun and the moon and the stars, all in one.” Effie notices the sparkle in Peeta’s eyes as he speaks of the girl. “She was so beautiful, and her eyes…I’ve never seen the same shade on another human being’s face, silver as the moonlight, intense as the night sky. Her hair, well back then it was long, nearly to the middle of her back. But she always wore it in this braid over her shoulder—” Effie’s eyes go wide as she listens to Peeta, realizing he is describing the girl in the next room.

‘Could it be?’ Effie thinks to herself. “Peeta, I think you should meet your neighbor. Maybe you could share a dance with her…Spend a night on the town—”

Peeta chuckles before interrupting her. “That’s okay Effie. I’m going home as soon as the airlines call me anyway. I just wanted to experience Dia De La Canción Criolla Peruvian style.”

Effie shrugs her shoulders, getting up to leave as an idea comes to mind. If her plan is to succeed, she will need help. “Okay, Peeta. Your loss.”

Effie waits in her office until she sees Miss Everdeen exit the hotel. Once she knows Cinna is free, she immediately goes to him and shares her suspicions.

“Cinna, we must, we absolutely must bring those two together!”

“Effie, what are the chances that the true love they lost and speak of just happens to be in the next room? An entire country away?” Cinna asks, exasperated by Effie’s infatuation with true love.

“Okay, so maybe I’m wrong…But what would it hurt?” Cinna thinks about it for a moment, deciding no harm could come of it, he listens to Effie’s plan.

x – x – x

“Thank you for coming with me Portia, I felt a little strange coming out here by myself.” Peeta gives Portia a smile as they leave the hotel and join the crowded streets. There are people dancing everywhere, children carousing the streets alongside their parents dressed up in their costumes.

“Would you like to dance Portia?” Portia scans the area, looking for any sign of Cinna, and then nods her head. She will dance them closer to where Cinna is with his girl.

“Where did you learn to dance Peeta? You’re quite good.” Peeta blushes at Portia’s compliment.

“Katniss.”

“Katniss? Was that her name? Your sweetheart back home?”

Peeta nods, just as a handkerchief flies into his face. He reaches for it, holding it in front of him with a confused look. “What the—”

“It means there is a lovely lady who wishes to dance with you.” Portia maneuvers Peeta’s body, turning him around and pushing him toward the woman standing next to Cinna. The darkness of the night, in addition to the lack of streetlights, prevents Peeta from clearly seeing her face. All he can make out is the silhouette of her face, yet the moment their fingers brush against each other, he instantly feels that familiarity…he feels at home.

But Peeta would know her anywhere; at least he thinks it is her. No, no. His mind is just playing tricks on him. Either way, he extends his arm to her, and she accepts graciously just as The Marinera begins to play.

It is their dance. Katniss and Peeta’s dance from high school. Peeta circles her once, and then again. She smiles at him flirtatiously, swinging her hips as she sways to the music. They tease each other back and forth throughout the night. It is as if they had spent their entire lives perfecting their moves, as if their bodies are meant to be as one.

The familiarity that overtakes them when Peeta places his hands on Katniss’ hips sends shock waves surging through their bodies. ‘Why does this feel so familiar? Why does this feel so right?’ Peeta thinks to himself after their second dance.

They dance the night away with each other, oblivious to the identity of their dance partner. The chemistry surges through Peeta’s body, and he knows she feels it too. There is something familiar about this woman, but Peeta cannot quite put his finger on it. It isn’t until the light of the moon casts its glow, causing the pendant on her necklace to shimmer in the moonlight, which is when Peeta freezes.

It can’t be, no, this girl just happens to have the same necklace. But then he sees the tiny inscription of the word “Always” in elegant script at the base of the pearl. That is when he knows.

It is her.

His Katniss.

Part 3

Turning away from the familiar stranger, Katniss hikes her dress up and runs back to the hotel. She rushes onto the elevator and presses the button for the twelfth story. When the doors open to her floor, she takes off in a sprint again, toward her room, then slams the door behind her once she’s inside.

“Get a grip, Katniss, wake up. It’s not him. You are just dreaming!” She yells at herself, lightly banging the back of her head against the door. ‘How does he know my name?’ she asks herself.

Less than a minute later, there is a knock at the door. “Katniss? Katniss, are you okay? Please open the door. I know it’s you. It’s me, Peeta. I’m sorry if I scared you; it’s just…can you please open the door so that I can see your face?”

Can it be him? Is it truly him? So many times, Katniss thought she saw him, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be someone else. Her heart cannot take another beating.

With her hand on the door handle, Katniss closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable. Slowly, she opens the door just a crack, peeking through the small space.

“Peeta? Is it…is it really you?” She asks, slowly nudging the door open.

They stand there with their eyes locked, staring at each other while time stands still. A loose strand of hair blows in Katniss’s eyes, interrupting their trance. It is enough to reel her back into the present, and Peeta extends his arm, stroking Katniss’s cheek.

“Katniss,” Peeta says, staring longingly into her eyes. He slowly lowers his hand, pinching the tiny pearl hanging from Katniss’s neck. “You still…I can’t believe you still have it.”

Katniss glances at his left hand that grasps her pearl, and her heart speeds up at the absence of a ring. Peeta reaches up and places his hands on either side of Katniss’s face, bringing his face closer to inspect that it is really her.

“I never…I never take it off,” Katniss says, licking her lips. “Do you want to…come in?” Katniss asks him.

Peeta gives her a nod and walks past her and into the room. Katniss closes the door behind him, and when she turns around to face Peeta, he pulls her close, slamming his lips onto hers.

The kiss is deep, sensual, and passionate, everything they have craved over the years. Peeta takes Katniss to the bed in the center of the room, removing his jacket and slinging it behind him.

Katniss allows Peeta to take control. He lays her back against the sheets, then follows after her until he’s, hovering above her. “My God, I have missed you.” His voice reverberates between their connected lips.

There is no denying it. It is her. The only thing that matters is Katniss. His Katniss. Right here, right now, she stands in front of him after all this time. He cannot take it anymore and closes the short distance between them, slamming his lips against hers. Peeta plunges his tongue deep into her mouth, devouring her. Tasting her. Reveling in her.

The moment their lips connect, they knew they had finally found each other. And yes, it was definitely worth the wait.

5 Years Later

“I can’t believe you are getting married in Peru on Halloween!” Prim squeals, zipping the back of Katniss’ wedding gown up.

“It’s not Halloween in Peru, Prim. It’s Día de la Canción Criolla. And it’s when Peeta and I found each other again.”

“I know, sissy. I still can’t believe you guys found each other in Peru of all places! I mean, I don’t remember a whole lot from…from before, but I remember how happy you guys were when we were kids. And then I remember how sad you were when we had to leave, and…and I’m just so glad you found him!” Prim says, turning Katniss around and adding the finishing touches to her hair.

“I’m just glad that you, Rory, and the kids were able to come. Have you seen Peeta? Is he okay?”

“No, you are not seeing him until the wedding. No exceptions!” Prim tells Katniss, pointing a sassy finger in her face.

When Peeta catches sight of Katniss walking down the aisle to marry him, in the captivating dress with pearl accents, his heart stops in his chest at how beautiful she is. When he finally found her after so many years, he thought he had died and was living in his dreams.

He finally found her, and she was now his to love. Always.

#everlark #autumn 2020 #everlark fanfiction #autumn #ameliaodair #submission #prompt

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capnjay21 · 3 years

Text

The Wind Blows White 2/6

It’s been two years since Killian Jones and Emma Swan managed to escape the clutches of Brooke House, two years of waiting for it all to catch up to them and two years of pretending the cracks in their happy ending don’t show. But when the vision appears to Killian of a young boy unearthing the dagger and the darkness they had long since buried, it’s a race against time to try and stop another innocent from befalling the same fate. If they have the strength to face it.

Sequel to ‘A House is Never Still’.

A/N: Aaaand here is chapter two! Firstly I'd like to give MASSIVE thanks to @hollyethecurious who has been kind enough to make the lovely art for this fic <3 I'm so pleased with it! For those who don’t know, Hollye designed the art that inspired the original fic so that makes this EXTRA cool.

And secondly I'd like to say thanks so so much to everybody who picked up the first chapter, I'm so thrilled you're ready to hop back on board the spooky train with me. I hope you like this!

AO3 | chapter one

Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of canonical character death and some certified Spooky Business™.

Taglist: @carpedzem @optomisticgirl @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @phiralovesloki @hollyethecurious @stahlop @peglegsjones @mariakov81 @seasailia @courtorderedcake @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @marrtinski @thisonesatellite @klynn-stormz @teamhook @lfh1226-linda

If anyone would like on, or off, the taglist, just let me know!

-/-

2. that featureless space

-/-

The ground beneath him was moving. No, it was growling. Rumbling for more, then receding, hurtling forward and then retreating, leaving him a helpless passenger. It was a car. The old Mustang, in fact, he recognised the flowery smell of the vinyl seats that Liam had never been able to scrub out. The car window was a little too high for him to see properly out of, it was just a blur of colour whizzing by, and his hands had been folded neatly in his lap. His legs were small, just barely long enough to touch the bottom of the car, the jagged metal that grumbled underneath him.

This was the car that Liam had died in.

Killian wiped his eyes, groggy. He couldn’t remember getting in this car.

“Where are we going?” he asked the driver. His voice sounded high, and squeaky. And young.

The driver was Liam.

“Nowhere,” Liam said, then changed his mind. “Somewhere. Somewhere better.”

With great effort, Killian turned his neck to see if anyone was in the backseat. They were alone, but a large suitcase sat where a person should be.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

Liam kept his eyes on the road. Killian only noticed now because it seemed more deliberate than before.

“Dad isn’t coming.”

For some reason, this was surprising. Killian wanted to ask why, but Liam was shaking his head firmly.

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

To his amazement, he did.

This time when he woke, he was outside. He knew this because he could feel the soft warmth of the sun on his skin, and nearby the sound of water rushing by drowned out the buzz of insects around him. It was bright, he had to shield his eyes and keep them narrowed until they adjusted, and he could finally take in his surroundings. He was sat on dry rock, a few metres away from the edge of a rushing stream, an everchanging palette of vivid sapphire and frothy pearl, and on the opposite bank a sparse array of thick trees stood swaying gently in the breeze.

On either side of the wide, open current, walls of rock rose up for hundreds of metres, and Killian realised he had been here before.

It was the memory of a memory, perhaps a recollection of something he had been told rather than something he had lived, but everything about this place was familiar, and bright, and achingly, desperately sad.

This was the creek that Liam had died in.

Then he saw the boy.

The boy was crouched down so near to the surface of the water that his gaze had easily skimmed over him the first time, huddled tightly on a rock near the centre of the current with his arm thrust into the water.

“No,” Killian said, before he even realised what was happening.

He stood. At his feet was a hastily rolled up jacket, which must belong to the boy.

The boy who was reaching for the dagger.

“Wait,” he called, desperately.

The boy ignored him, or he did not hear.

“Stop!”

Triumphantly, the boy pulled back with his prize.

In the sparkling sunlight, its shiny edge was unmistakable.

There was the dagger.

Come.

“Put it back,” Killian hollered, his chest hurting from the force of his yell. “Listen to me!”

The boy looked up. Stared him straight in the eye.

“I am,” he said, “I’m listening.”

-/-

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Killian was sat with his legs folded underneath him on the floor of Elsa’s bedroom, warmly lit by an array of candles across every surface. Dim light streamed in through an open window, casting orange splotches onto the immaculate powder blue carpet. After their discussion with Tink, she had invited him back the following day for a private session with them both, an attempt at a more guided scry, and Killian had jumped at the invitation. Anything that might provide him with more concrete answers.

Emma had gone again to the office of the skip they were after; apparently his credit card had been used in a convenience store near to it the day before. Killian had wanted to go with her, but the lingering invitation from Elsa and Tink, combined with Emma’s emphatic insistence that she wouldn’t need help had left him at something of a loss.

Although he was sure her determination came from the same place that insisted his coming home and finding their kitchen flooded was nothing to be concerned about. She claimed she had just left the tap on, and had been meaning to clean it up before he got home but had fallen asleep before she had the chance.

She was awake when he got home, though. And when he’d called her earlier it had rung through to voicemail. He was concerned – that was easy enough to admit.

By the third time he had probed her about it, she had declared that she’d really prefer it if he didn’t come with her to the office the following day, and had shut down that line of questioning with perhaps more vigour than it required. Killian didn’t know what else to do.

They were supposed to be a team. If she was having trouble, she was supposed to tell him so they could solve it together. He knew she was holding something back, but if she refused to confide in him then he couldn’t exactly pull or pester the truth out of her, and he wouldn’t want to, anyway. Perhaps she was frustrated that she was still having setbacks like these; after her rescue from Brooke House they had been frequent, the nightmares near constant, and her sense of drifting from moment to moment was something they had discussed at great length together, developing coping mechanisms and strategies to help her get past it.

They had been a team. More than anything, Killian just wanted her to be alright. He had just hoped his days of needing to scale Emma’s walls had ended the day she told him she loved him.

Unless she didn’t. Love him anymore, that is.

Something squeezed tightly in his chest.

“At this point,” he cleared his throat, forcing his focus back to the other occupants of Elsa’s bedroom, “I’m ready to try anything.”

Tink was sat perched on the bed in her bare feet, her blonde hair tied up into a haphazard bun as she carefully emptied a large glass jar of water into a white ceramic bowl. The bowl, Killian presumed, he would be scrying out of. Elsa was stood preparing something at her desk on the other side of the room, and Killian could hear the sound of something bubbling. It reminded him distinctly of the living room back in Regina’s house, with the large desks and varied array of vials and candles resembling an incredibly ancient chemistry set, or a set perfect for the potions and brews she liked to assemble.

It had been a while since he’d spoken to Regina; he should make an effort to give her a call. It wasn’t as if she was likely to do the reverse.

Tink eyed him over her task as he fidgeted on the floor. “It would really help if you told us what this dream was about.”

I am. I’m listening.

“It’s – it’s really better if I don’t.” The less they knew about the dagger, the better. He didn’t want anyone else exposed to its evil.

“Ooh, mysterious. Are you predicting a murder? Was some poor, desperate soul murdered before your very eyes?” she grinned. “Was it me?”

“Tink,” Elsa admonished from across the room, “please.”

Tink let out an exaggerated sigh, and sealed the glass bottle once the bowl was full. Carefully, so as not to spill any, she stood and set the bowl down in front of him. The water was clear, and smelled fresh. He couldn’t imagine seeing anything in it other than his own reflection.

“You were right about rainwater being generally more effective,” Tink began, folding her legs as she sat across from him. “Really, anything from nature is supposed to make scrying a little clearer. You’re lucky Elsa was happy to donate this to the cause.” She gestured to the bowl. “It’s water from a natural spring.”

“I collected it a few years ago in Oregon.”

Killian eyed the bowl warily. “Alright. Do I – just –?”

It felt bizarre to try and do with two people watching, in the middle of the afternoon. As if by casting light on the process it somehow took something out of it; getting his mind to that place where he really believed this would work would be a little more difficult, and in his experience, perception was reality when it came to flirting with the otherworldly. Not to mention his brushes with real magic had only ever occurred in the dead of night, in the middle of fall, and Elsa’s bedroom felt too neat, too warm, to be somewhere something close to miraculous could happen.

“Not without this,” Elsa informed him, finally revealing what she had been working on. In her hand she held a steaming mug of – well, he wasn’t exactly sure what, but its scent was distinctly herbal and earthy. Killian had a sneaking suspicion he was going to be made to drink it. “I’ll warn you, this isn’t going to taste good.”

Killian winced. “What’s in it?”

“Bitter grass.”

“It makes dreaming more vivid, or last longer,” Tink added. “I’ve never tried it myself, but apparently it can make scrying… well, more.”

“‘More’?” Killian carefully took the mug from Elsa, peering at it dubiously.

The hot liquid had settled on a murky acid colour and leaves were still floating aimlessly on its surface. It did not look in the least bit appetising.

Tink huffed, as if his attempt to quantify her deliberate vagueness offended her. “I don’t know, like you’re in the front seat rather than clinging to the rear bumper?”

Killian was beginning to question the wisdom in attempting something their so-called expert had purported never to have tried.

“Scrying is a mess,” she continued sharply. “I avoid it for this very reason. It’s like –” Tink hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It’s like walking into a CVS and trying to buy a hunk of plutonium. You’re sort of along the right lines, you’re in a store, and a store is where you buy things, but you’re so far out of your depth that all you can really do is cross your fingers and ask the universe, and hope someone answers back.”

Killian took a tentative sip of the tea, and immediately grimaced as the acrid mixture began to slip down his throat.

“You’re right, this is revolting.”

Elsa smiled sympathetically. “And it’s illegal in Louisiana, so that’s got to be a win for the rebellious teen in you, right?”

He forced himself to drink a little more. “I always preferred sneaking rum.” He paused, contemplating. “Any chance we could add rum to this?”

“Listen to me,” Tink snapped, and his gaze shot back to her. “Scrying is dangerous. You’re effectively setting your mind loose from your body. Do that for too long…”

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

“And I’ll be stuck in CVS forever?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Killian thought of the sparkling summer day, of the boy, of another innocent life the dagger wanted to claim. It had already taken Liam, and left its mark on Emma forever.

Consider this him jumping in with both feet.

Fall away.

He finished off the rest of his tea and returned the mug to Elsa.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” she asked gently.

Killian nodded firmly, and pulled the bowl a little closer towards him.

Elsa laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t go too far. Let us help you back if you need it.”

He had no idea what that meant, but he thanked her all the same. They had already done so much for him.

Tink blew out the last few candles, the curl of smoke rising from them smelling faintly of rosemary; he had known an unlit candle’s purpose for years now in these sorts of rituals – to let energy out. It struck him only then that the very thing they were expecting to let out was him.

Killian turned his attention to the surface of the water, perfectly still in the bowl.

After he leaned closer, he could see the details of his face more clearly in his reflection. The dark lines under his eyes, the barely visible scar on his right cheek from when Regina had flung a pencil at him a little too hard in eighth grade. His eyes didn’t even look blue anymore, in his reflection they looked less somehow, washed, like a faded grey. As he stared, he became aware that something around him had changed – like a noise that had always existed in his periphery had suddenly dropped out, and now he wished he had been paying closer attention to discern what it was. The tea had settled warmly in his chest and he felt light, lighter than air, and tried to focus on that sensation.

Moments ago, he had felt that if he had reached out to either side of him, he would feel Elsa and Tink there. He was not sure he felt that way now.

His right hand twitched.

It was a foreign, surprising sensation, like someone else had reached through his shoulder all the way to his fingertips and jerked it without his permission. It begged for his attention but he tried not to let his mind wander beyond its purpose, and forced himself to keep looking at the surface of the water.

Or what had once been the surface of the water.

Ripples scattered across its edges, as if a sharp wind were blowing until it folded over itself, oozing, and his chest wanted to fall forward, forward, to topple over until he collapsed and could feel the sharp sting of ice cold water filling up his lungs. His chest felt tight. Hard. Like he had to force every breath through a sheet of glass until it reached him. He thought about Elsa, what Elsa had promised, to help him back if he went too far and he reached for her –

His hand fell through empty air.

The ground beneath him was moving. Growling, rumbling, hurtling forward; was he back in the car? Liam’s Mustang, like he had dreamt last night? Even as he thought it the colours materialised, but the vinyl of the seat felt searing hot beneath him and the cream was so bright, he had to blink his eyes against it. He wanted to turn and look at the driver. He wanted to turn and look at Liam. He would give anything to turn his head and be able to look at Liam one more time and for it to be real.

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

Show me the boy, he thought fiercely, the boy at the creek with the dagger.

His chest tugged him toward the door of the car as he fumbled with his seatbelt, falling against it as the car started to speed up. With effort, he pulled the handle open and the door swung away from him, his grabbing onto the roof of the car the only thing that stopped him hurtling out of it and into the black.

If he wanted to go deeper, he had to let himself fall.

So, the outside beckoned, fall.

Killian let go.

-/-

“Thank you,” Emma said, her cheeks flushed with glorious delight, “for always knowing exactly what I want before I do.”

Killian blinked. Granny’s Diner smelt like burnt cheese and vanilla cake and Emma’s arms were around his neck. The bus ticket sat on the table beside them.

“I know this part,” he said, feeling dazed. “This is the part where I kiss you.”

The corner of Emma’s lip curled unpleasantly.

“You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

-/-

“I think you should do it.”

“Do what?”

Come back, he breathed.

“Go and live with the Nolan’s.”

“Killian, come on.”

Haunt me.

“I’ll be out after high school. What’s the point?”

Just as he reached for her, Emma dived into the ocean.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

I love you, he shouted. She didn’t reply.

He jumped in after her.

-/-

“Go back to sleep, Killian.”

Show me the boy.

-/-

Killian gasped as he broke free from the surface of the water, gulping in oxygen like a man starved. His limbs felt numb, only sluggishly responding to his demands as he struggled to stay afloat. His chest was tight, freezing, and as he spluttered he could feel fresh water pushing its way out from his throat. Was he drowning? This felt like what drowning should feel. like Water was everywhere; his nose, his eyes, and though he tried to wipe it away so he could see, he was doing so with a hand that was also soaked and made little difference against his blurring vision.

He had to get out. He had to find shore. Killian kicked his legs into action, pumping them through the black to try and propel him forward, push him toward something; everything around him felt so permeable, so susceptible to the slightest change in thought, and he tried to focus on the feel of the water around him. Water could be good. Water could take him to the creek.

The creek, he insisted, bringing his arms in to give his strokes more momentum, the dagger.

His feet brushed what felt like the murky bottom of the pool, slick with seaweed and soft, and his toes scrabbled for purchase while his arms tried to aid in treading water – and that was when he saw him. A few metres in front, the boy fumbling for the dagger.

“Hey!” he hollered, but the noise was drowned out by the current flooding around him. Water flooded into his open mouth and he choked. “H—hold on!”

The boy was already scampering away, hopping from rock to rock with his prize hidden underneath his shirt. He was calling to someone Killian could not see on the opposite bank.

“Just a minute, Dad!”

Two firm hands reached underneath Killian’s arms and hauled him out of the water. He flopped down onto the bank, coughing and spluttering.

Gasping, shivering, he tried to focus on his would-be saviour.

It was his father.

It was impossible for Brennan Jones to be that tall, not while Killian was a man grown, but that was how he remembered him – broad shoulders, lined features, and an easy sort of smile when he wanted it.

He wasn’t smiling now.

“What have I said about staying in bed?”

Killian’s heart was galloping against his ribcage; he had done something he knew he could not take back, the oil had spilled and poison was beginning to blacken the depths of the ocean. Something white hot and fearful had ignited in his chest, Liam would know what to do, Liam would – Liam would –

“Why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

His father’s arms thrust out in front of him – and although Killian hadn’t been touched, he felt himself flung backwards through the air.

Why can’t you just do as you’re told?

There was nothing but empty space behind him.

He was falling, he was falling, he was falling.

His watch beeped: 2:17am. Right on time.

There was a searing pain in his right hand, but his scream was swallowed by the dark.

-/-

Go back to sleep, Killian.

“Killian!”

He was lying on his back, staring at the intricate pattern of Elsa’s ceiling, and his right hand hurt like a bitch.

“Ah,” he hissed, wincing, instinctively lifting it to try and identify the cause. It was covered with blood. “Ah – the – fuck.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Someone was yelping in response, then something cold and wet was pressed against his hand as he tried to sit up. “We didn’t know what else to do!”

He felt dizzy. The sight of blood didn’t help, and a wave of nausea surged within him.

“Oh god, he’s gonna – Elsa get the –”

Something plastic and cylindrical was thrust underneath his chin and he promptly vomited into it.

The whole room was spinning. He tried shutting his eyes but it only made it worse, the horizontal slamming into vertical behind his eyelids. Someone was attempting to rub soothing circles on his back and he tried to focus on that, while someone else kept a cold cloth pressed against his bleeding hand. Elsa and Tink. Right. Elsa and Tink. Slowly, so he didn’t aggravate his already deeply upset stomach, he tried to glance at the space around them.

The ceramic bowl of water had been overturned, and a visible wet patch surrounded it. Beside it, a large kitchen knife had been discarded, its sharp edge scarlet with blood that was now dribbling onto the otherwise pristine light blue carpet. His blood, he realised, dazedly drawing the connection between the knife and his bleeding hand.

“Did you – to me –?” he mumbled, wiping his sweaty forehead with his free hand.

“You gave us quite a fright,” Elsa replied. “Nothing we did could bring you out of it and you looked – well. Distressed.” Gingerly, she took the bin away from him and left the room to dispose of it.

“The worst,” he began, then coughed, “worst cup of tea ever.”

“I underestimated you,” Tink growled, as she tied the wet cloths ends around Killian’s palm with a show of force. “You really just jumped right in, huh? This is why I steer clear of this crap. It’s a fucking shitshow. You could have died and then, what, I’m explaining you wanted to stare at visions in a fruit bowl to your pretty girlfriend? No way. No fucking way.”

“Sorry,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“Don’t be sorry, be smart.”

“Here. Water,” Elsa returned with a glass, and Killian reached for it eagerly. His throat felt like something had crawled in there and died. “Feel any better?”

Killian nodded, and he meant it. He had never been so aware of his own limbs before, of the heaviness of his own arms and legs. It was like he’d been living without gravity and these were his first few moments back on Earth and feeling the weight of his cumbersome form.

Was this how Emma felt, he wondered, when she lingered in that featureless space between?

“So? What did you see?”

Why can’t you just do as you’re told?

Killian tried to clear his throat, but something stuck tightly in it.

In a sea of opalescent and obscure images, that had felt very clear. It didn’t marry up to his memory in the same way the others did; he was certain he did not have any memories of Brennan Jones associated with such a moment, but it was just – it was so vivid.

“I don’t, uh,” he rubbed his right eye tiredly. “I don’t know.”

-/-

In their line of work, there was nothing that irritated Emma more than wasted time. Wasted time meant loss of income, and the unreasonably elusive skip August W. Booth was getting on her last nerve. She had gone to his old office the day before, armed with the information regarding the credit card purchase, only to be turned away at the front desk with the claim the entire company staff were away on a corporate retreat. Her instincts had wanted to call bullshit, but a cursory glance of a few of their social media pages confirmed it. It didn’t matter if she was ninety nine percent certain her bail jumper was hiding out inside the office, if the actual employees weren’t there then she couldn’t exactly magic a reason to be admitted out of thin air.

Annoyingly, it meant they had to put it off for another day. This damn bail jumper was one slippery fucker, and the more time Emma had to waste rounding him up, the more irritated she got. Their time was their own in this profession, which most of the time was an advantage, but every second spent on the same guy was a second she couldn’t spend securing their next pay-check.

Killian had insisted on joining her this time, and she couldn’t think of any good reason for him not to. Her slip up with the tap in the kitchen had thankfully drifted into the near-past and there were no other demands on his time. Not to mention given how tricky this August W. Booth was proving to be, better they put their heads together and get it sorted out, pay-check cashed, as soon as possible.

Emma watched enviously as Killian slid the Chevelle smoothly into park at the side of the road – the old car was never that cooperative with her, spitting like a feral cat as she wrestled with the stick shift. The morning was dim and gloomy, the sky overhead a bruised and leaden grey slathering the streets with scattered showers at unpredictable intervals. Currently only one wiper was working, albeit lazily, succeeding in keeping only the driver’s side of the windshield clear while rain loped down in waves in front of Emma.

Through the passenger side door, she squinted out at the office block, the embossed directory helpfully just a few feet away from where they’d parked. Gepetto’s – 6th Floor.

“Alright,” Emma sighed, drumming her fingers on the passenger door. “The receptionist said by now they should all be back from their… I dunno, business boy-scouting, or whatever. You wait out here, I’ll go in and chat to the office manager, ask if she’s seen any funny business. Really hammer home the whole ‘he’s a criminal’ shtick. Throw out a few ‘harboring a fugitive is a prosecutable offence’, etcetera…” Emma turned to get Killian’s input, but he wasn’t looking at her. His hands were still resting on the bottom of the wheel, and he was staring out of the front windshield.

His eyes held the same vacant look she had been catching him with all morning, and every time she spotted it something inside her twisted unpleasantly. It felt like he went somewhere, and she wasn’t used to Killian checking out into places she couldn’t follow him.

“Hey.” She snapped her fingers next to his ear, startling him. “Paging Killian Jones.”

“What?” He straightened abruptly in his seat. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll QB from down here.” He made a show of peering past and her and toward the office block. It didn’t fool her. “See if he makes a run for it once his cage gets rattled.”

Emma watched him curiously, hoping for any sort of clue, but he didn’t meet her eye. He likely was trying to avoid what they both knew was her superpower, to spot a lie a thousand miles away; and immediately, unbidden, a wave of self-consciousness rose within her. He hadn’t really said anything about the flooding incident – but what if he wanted to? He’d been quiet since yesterday, so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume he had been mulling the whole situation over. It wasn’t paranoia when the logic was sound.

Maybe he was finally getting fed up of cleaning up after her messes.

With effort, she pushed the feeling down.

“You okay today?” Emma asked. “You’ve been spaced out all morning.”

Killian waved a hand, and smiled in a not-all-that-convincing manner. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No blood pacts with the Witches of West Bellevue on your mind?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Killian replied drily, smiling despite himself as he unconsciously picked at the bandage with his opposite hand. “I wish you wouldn’t call them that.” She knew he was intending to sound reproachful, but there was no heat behind it.

“I wish they wouldn’t send you home bleeding,” she smirked. Killian had come back to their flat last night sporting a rather nasty gash on his right palm – he had insisted it was his own fault, some incident with a bread knife, but Emma had enjoyed teasing him to no end about blood sacrifices and voodoo rituals.

“That was my fault,” Killian said absently, clearly not registering her jest. “And it was an accident.”

Emma arched an eyebrow, wondering which it was: his fault, or an accident.

“Hey.” She laid a hand on his arm to get his full attention, and he finally looked her in the eye. She wasn’t particularly enthused about hashing out the events of the other night, but if there was something genuinely bothering him then she wanted to know about it. “Is there something on your mind?”

Killian’s lips parted, as if debating whether to speak. “It’s… nothing important.” He shrugged, offering her a smile. “Really. I’m just a little too in my own head.”

Emma was far from convinced. “Well, I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

This time when Killian smiled, he tilted his head and his eyes softened, as if he were looking at her for the first time that day. Even after all the years they had known each other, there was a thrill in being seen so gently. He leaned forward and she met him halfway, their lips meeting in a slow kiss.

After they parted, he let out a contented sigh as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re my favourite, you know that, right?”

Emma grinned. “And I promise you’re a close second behind Regina.”

“Wow.”

Emma laughed as she shrugged on her coat. “Alright, time to nail this son of a bitch.” She dropped a final kiss on his cheek before reaching for the door handle. “See you in a bit.”

After stepping out into the downpour, she jogged as quickly as she could to the front door of the office block, lifting her jacket over her head for as much protection from the elements as she could manage, but wasn’t convinced it would do much to abate her looking either washed out or a little drowned by the time she spoke to somebody from Gepetto’s. The receptionist recognised her from the day prior, and after waving in greeting immediately phoned up to the sixth floor to see if anybody was available to speak to her.

There was a bit of negotiating, but before long the office manager for Gepetto’s had come down to meet her and was escorting her back up to the sixth floor. She didn’t want to launch into the reason for her being there before she’d had a chance to look around the office, so to avoid spooking her Emma offered up some general lines of enquiry about the office structure with information she had managed to glean from the company website. Almost flattered by her interest, the office manager was only too keen to rattle off her answers for the duration of the lift ride until the doors finally reopened.

It took only a few steps out of the lift lobby for Emma to stop dead in her tracks – because there, leaning against the desk at the entrance to the office, stood her mark.

Emma felt herself tense, instinctively readying herself to run, but she had to forcefully remind herself that August W. Booth had no reason to know who she was in the slightest, which would make everything a lot easier. He was here, that was what counted, and now she just had to figure out a way to get a pair of cuffs on him.

The office manager had been speaking, and Emma tried to tune back in and pick up where they left off, and as they reached the desk August looked up at the two of them.

And immediately straightened, his eyes widening the moment they landed on her.

Emma schooled her expression into one of nonchalance – but it made no difference. She could spot a skip about to hit the ground running a mile off, and she reached for her handcuffs as subtly as she could manage.

“Emma?” August gaped.

She was momentarily taken aback – what the –?

If possible, August looked more stunned than she felt. “How did you find me?”

His gaze dropped to her side and landed on the handcuffs.

He was moving before she even had a chance to process what was happening.

“Hey!” she barked, immediately sprinting after him. Somebody was yelling something from behind her, and the office around her became a blur of colour and noise as she shot through it, narrowing her focus on the man running in front of her.

She collided heavily with someone she couldn’t duck out of the way of, and had just enough time to distractedly mumble an apology before taking off again, and in a beat she realised where he was heading – the stairwell toward the fire exit. There wasn’t enough time to get out her phone and warn Killian, she just hoped he’d be ready in case she didn’t catch him before he got out of the building.

August wrenched open the door to the stairwell, pulling at a filing cabinet beside it until it crashed into the ground, sending a whoosh of papers and folders scattering out onto the floor. Beside it some office workers had gasped, and Emma yelled at them to jump out of the way as she approached, skipping past documents that might slip her up and leaping over the cabinet to the door.

Her skip was already a flight of stairs down and Emma wasted no time following him.

“Hang on a second!” she demanded, but there was no indication on whether he had heard her. “I just want to talk to you!”

And arrest you, and claim the reward, but why the fuck would you care?

She chased him all the way to the ground floor, where she heard him letting out a string of expletives against the sound of metal rattling in its frame – he was stranded at the exit, unable to get the door open and scrambling for any way out.

Emma slowed her pace as she descended the final flight, trying to get a good look at him – he looked exactly like the photos they had been provided with, except for the shadow of a few days without shaving scratched around his chin. His leather jacket was battered and his hair unkempt, and he was currently grunting with effort as he thrust his shoulder into the door in an attempt to get it open.

“Look, just give it a rest,” Emma growled, “you had to know this was coming. You missed a pretty important court date.”

August paused his efforts, turning to glance at her nervously. “You can’t arrest me.”

“Three counts of property damage, theft and disturbing the peace say otherwise. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“No, you can’t arrest me. It can’t be you.”

Emma was getting fed up with his bullshit. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The look August was giving her was pained. “I’m so sorry.”

Then he slammed his fist through the glass protecting the fire alarm.

The stairwell exploded with sound.

Overhead the alarm bell rattled blisteringly loud, August was swearing profusely at his bloodied hand, and the magnetic lock on the door buzzed open. As the man stumbled out of it, the stairwell was flooded with light and the sound of rain rattling against the alleyway outside – but Emma didn’t notice any of that.

From the moment the alarm sounded, a searing pain had blasted through her temples and she cried out; something was rattling, cracking against the casing of her skull and she gasped her way through it, stumbling down onto the ground. She couldn’t see anything, her vision was blinded by spots of white, and it was all she could do to fight for some semblance of control over her motor functions. Everything hurt. Something was stealing the breath from her lungs, and although she knew it couldn’t be real, she felt her fingertips curling into damp soil underneath her.

I don’t know where I am.

Emma could feel hot tears rolling down her cheek as she tried to think of anything except how much her head was throbbing, the alarm blaring across her senses as if it had come from inside her. It was too much. It was all too much.

Killian?

I don’t know where I am.

I thought –

I thought I heard your voice.

It was the cold that she remembered most about Brooke House. That terrible, awful absence of warmth, that numbness, that sense that her limbs were not truly moving because she could no longer feel them. It was ice, it was loss, it was knowing the world she knew was gone forever even though just seconds earlier it had swirled in a storm of obsidian light, and Killian –

Killian had wanted to save her.

And she had told him not to.

Killian – Killian, don’t – !

The sky was full of birds.

Her parents left her on the side of the road on a crisp autumn morning, while the sky was alive with birdsong.

Emma –

There was too much sound, too much light; she couldn’t see. Something hurt. It was her. Around her the forest breathed slowly, in, and out, and the old wood of the house creaked unheard. It had nothing else to show her. She had read all the books. She had written on all the walls. She pleaded for the chance to walk amongst the wood, to feel the crunch of delicate, copper leaves underfoot and the patter of rain on her skin.

She waited for him to come home.

The sky was full of birds.

“Emma!”

I thought I heard your voice.

-/-

It was 2:17am.

Robert should have been home hours ago, and Belle couldn’t sleep for worry.

He had gone to that wretched house, she knew it. Nothing else had been able to impress upon his waking mind for weeks, he was consumed by whatever he had found in there and left Belle to mind their livelihood alone. Stood in the centre of the shop floor, the room lit in an orange glow drifting through the blinds in strips, it somehow felt worse than the odd looks the townsfolk had been giving her when they came in to sell their wares, or find something for someone else.

The pawnshop had always been Robert’s, not hers. It was his name on the door, Gold. It didn’t matter that she’d taken his name when they married – everyone in Storybrooke still thought of her as ‘that funny Belle French’. She had always been something of an outlier in the realm of small-town opinion; but then, that was something she and her husband had always shared.

Brooke House was something he had pointedly kept from her.

He refused to take her there. He refused to discuss his work there. Every day he departed with trinkets and materials and vials of vividly coloured liquids of which she hadn’t a clue of the contents. Something powerful had captured his attention so desperately within its walls, something that made him see right through her.

And tonight – tonight, he had practically prowled about the shop until he had finally departed out into the night.

You’ll see, he had told her. You’ll see.

Well, she was tired of waiting.

She wanted her husband back.

She stalked into the backroom to retrieve her coat and changed out of her heels and into something sturdier, boots more suited to clambering through woodland than minding the pawn shop.

It was just as she was shrugging on her coat that she heard the tinkling of the bell over the front door, and her heart leapt hopefully.

“I was just coming to –”

She cut herself off once she saw it was not her husband who had entered, and shielded her disappointment in an expression of reproach.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she pointed out sharply. “We’re closed.”

The intruder stood their ground.

“It won’t do any good,” they said, quietly. “Your husband isn’t coming back.”

Belle stopped dead in her tracks.

“But I think you already know that.”

-/-

It was a migraine.

Just a migraine.

All the symptoms were there; white spots, sensitivity to light and sound, nausea – a rapid onset migraine. Their skip had gotten away, and when Killian had come looking for her amongst all the chaos August left behind, he had found her slumped at the bottom of the fire escape and had immediately taken her home. As it always did, time produced the most rational of explanations, even if Emma still had no idea how August W Booth had known who she was. The most logical reason was that somehow he had gotten in touch with the agency, or knew someone who had been able to tell him the name of the bail bondsperson who had been assigned to his case.

She had spent the afternoon recovering back in their flat, the blinds drawn and the bedroom door closed while Killian worked silently in the sitting room on their next case, and by the evening she felt back to her old self again. It had still made it difficult to resist Killian sitting her down and pleading with her to come and see the Bellevue coven at the weekend, to meet the Elsa he had told her so much about; if for no other reason than the home remedies that members of that community swore by when it came to migraines or insomnia, frequent ailments that kept catching Emma off guard.

Emma had no interest in ingratiating herself with the Bellevue coven, no matter how often he spoke of its charming members or how much he felt it might help her to connect with others who might have experiences with the otherworldly comparable to their brush with Brooke House. She had made it clear from the start; she didn’t believe a single soul could speak to what she had been through, and she was not interested in finding out.

This will not define me, she had said, the day they had ridden themselves of the dagger for good.

She wanted to believe that. She wanted to look forward. Minor setbacks aside, she still didn’t feel sitting around with a group of born-again self-ascribed ‘witches’ talking about how grand and mysterious the universe was would do anything for her focusing on her real life. It was this life she wanted to contemplate, not the one before, or the hell that awaited them after.

Besides, she knew what hell was. Hell was nothing. Barren, a void the soul was left to wander within.

Still, she could sense how important it was to Killian that she make this effort, and after all the considerate care he had given her over the last week – the appeal, the flood, the rescue after her migraine – he deserved her giving it a shot. Apparently they were having some sort of midsummer celebration anyway, and the evening didn’t have to amount to anything more than a fancy garden party. Emma preferred the idea of facing this part of Killian’s life without having to commit to making it part of hers too.

There were still significant drawbacks, though.

“You didn’t tell me there was a dress code,” she grumbled.

After arriving, they had been directed to walk around the side of Elsa’s house through a pathway of tall, sweeping archways plaited with ivy and lavender, leaving the path with a distinctly herbal and earthy scent. It reminded her of Regina’s garden. The evening was balmy and gentle, the setting sun painting the sky in broad, orange strokes, and the mellow flutter of a flute or clarinet could be heard drifting from the clearing ahead of them. Emma could already taste woodsmoke in the back of her throat.

Killian had kept her hand folded tightly in his, as if he were afraid if he let go she would turn around and go home. She wasn’t sure how to reassure him, since she wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t do it herself.

“There’s not a dress code,” Killian frowned. “At least not one they told me about.”

“You’re wearing it!” she pointed out accusatorily.

In keeping with the warmer temperature, Emma had opted for a simple pair of denim shorts and boots, with a dark green blouse she had thought would look suitably on theme for an event clearly thrilled about nature. Killian, on the other hand, looked far smarter in a crisp white shirt and a tan pair of chinos. White, she was now realising as they emerged into the main event, was clearly the theme.

A large bonfire had been stacked in the centre of the clearing and had been lit from the bottom, so currently the flame was only licking at the edges of the wood lying nearest its centre, but she could imagine as the night wore on it would grow significantly in size. There were around thirty, maybe forty guests scattered around, speaking jovially to one another, some lingering near a few fold-up tables laden with a wide array of food – that, at least, hadn’t been an exaggeration on Killian’s part. Just at a glance she could spot trays of roast beef, stuffed bell peppers, smoked salmon and an entire glass bowl filled with strawberries.

It was like walking into a garden of plenty, alive with wildflowers and the scent of freshly baked bread, while a small wind band played towards one edge of the clearing.

Most of the women were dressed in white or wearing light floral patterns, and every man she could see was sporting an identical white shirt to Killian’s. He fit right in – and to her chagrin she could now see how her attempt to slip into the background was now setting her apart.

“It’s not a dress code,” Killian waved her off, “it’s nothing like that.”

Emma spread her free hand across the clearing in a pointed sweep.

Killian had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Maybe it’s a little like that. But me – this – it’s a complete accident, I swear.”

He looked so eager to reassure her that she couldn’t help but laugh. There was something so light about his countenance tonight, something that buoyed her along without even trying – the entire drive there he had barely been able to contain whatever energy he had been carrying, drumming his fingers restlessly on the wheel of the Chevelle. She couldn’t tell if it was excitement about finally bringing her along to one of these things, or if he was just enthusiastic about getting out of the city, but either way she couldn’t really remember a time he had been this animated about an evening out. It was hard to find fault in that kind of simple delight. It made her feel like they were teenagers again.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, but she was grinning. “You promised me food.”

“Right, definitely,” he smiled back. “But for fear of appearing too obvious so soon after we’ve arrived, how about we start with a drink?”

“Sure.”

Her every assent seemed to have the instantaneous effect of brightening his mood even further. “Anna’s been going on about her punch for weeks – oh, Anna, I’ll make sure I introduce you –”

He tugged at their joined hands, but after a split-second Emma resisted.

“Why don’t you go and grab some for us and I’m just gonna… take it all in.” She looked around the garden. “Give me a sec to get my bearings.”

Killian didn’t question her, just squeezed her hand before letting go and promised to be back in a few moments.

She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a lot of sensory information to process. Her life with Killian was so insular, they didn’t spend a lot of time at big events – they both preferred places they could blend into the background. Attending a gathering of this size was probably something she hadn’t done since the last time she was in Storybrooke – something in her gut twinged at the thought. David and Mary Margaret would have loved a celebration like this, something like the Miner’s Day celebration the town used to throw every November. Good food, warm feelings; it was everything she and Killian used to good-naturedly mock when they were teenagers.

Tonight, while her partner’s enthusiasm was sweet, it was still a little jarring; especially when she remembered exactly what this community was, and it wasn’t just small-town eccentricities.

This was a coven, she had to keep reminding herself. Practitioners. Like Regina.

At least they didn’t appear to be making any sacrifices on that bonfire.

“Hey, Killian!” Emma watched as a petite blonde woman called Killian over to the group she was standing with, and he pivoted in their direction on his way to the refreshment table. She was smirking, and her hair was piled up messily on the top of her head. “Help us out, we need a tie-break.”

Emma couldn’t hear what she said after that, but watched as one of the men clapped him on the back, another one shaking his hand enthusiastically. He never really mentioned having friends in the Bellevue coven, but she supposed he must do – he had been going every week for over two months. In the sea of white among the grass, he all but disappeared into the crowd.

Watching him speak to them, she realised it really did remind her of when they were teenagers. Specifically, of when she had been sitting on the floor of Brooke House, her knees curled up to her chest as he traced a pentagram into the floorboards in thick black marker. Behind them their friends had bickered over the spirit board, and as the cold settled in she had watched Killian gently reaching for something beyond all their understanding.

The woman said something quiet and Killian laughed, a hearty and warm sound, but the sick feeling in Emma’s stomach only deepened. He fit here. Somewhere he could keep reaching.

“You must be Emma.”

Emma turned, and saw she was being approached by a taller woman, her bright blonde hair tied into a plait which hung over her right shoulder. Like everyone else, she was dressed all in white, in a long, light gown that trailed down to her feet.

“Uh, yeah,” Emma replied; if Killian had told them she was coming, her vivid green blouse likely gave her away. “Hi.”

“I’m Elsa,” the woman said, holding out a dainty hand for her to shake. Her palm was smooth, her skin so light it was almost white.

“Right,” Emma said, understanding dawning. “So this is your place?” Elsa nodded. “Great to meet you. This all seems… it looks great.”

Elsa smiled demurely. “We’re just lucky the weather held.”

Given Seattle’s propensity for continually being soaking wet, Emma couldn’t help but agree. “Pretty much.”

Killian was still standing with the other group, and while Emma could see him attempting to pivot away from them, apparently whatever animated discussion they were having kept drawing him in.

“You know, Killian has told me a little about you.”

Her hackles immediately rose. “Oh yeah?”

“He thinks of you all the time,” she continued. “I can tell he looks for you in the work we do here.”

Without her really noticing, the flutes had drifted into a different song, something that floated drowsily across the still air. It felt like she should be relaxed, like every variable had been carefully constructed to draw out the hazy, heady sensation of early summer, but Emma just couldn’t feel herself falling into it like she should.

Still, she didn’t want to disturb the tranquil atmosphere by getting too defensive with someone Killian often spoke highly of.

Instead, the corner of her mouth tugged upwards. “And what work is that?”

To her credit, Elsa laughed. They both knew there was little point in being coy.

“I actually think you and I are a lot alike,” the other woman mused, a cheerful twinkle in her eye.

Alright, she’d bite. “How d’you figure?”

Elsa took a long, slow breath, averting her eyes to the rest of the gathering. A man and a woman standing near the fledgling bonfire had begun swaying to the music.

“Putting up walls, it works to keep the bad things out. And keeping everything contained inside, all those… messy, confusing instincts – that stops us from hurting others.”

Nobody can control this door except you, Emma.

“But it also closes us off to them completely.”

Emma felt herself beginning to bristle; she wasn’t sure she would appreciate a lecture about Killian Jones from somebody who had known him all of five minutes. Not to mention she was growing uneasy with the amount that Killian had perhaps chosen to confide in a complete stranger.

“What exactly has he been saying about me?”

“Almost nothing,” Elsa was quick to assure her, but it was the almost that stuck. “Which I think is quite telling in itself.”

Emma said nothing.

“Answer me this – why do you think Killian chooses to come here?”

She let out a huff of frustration. Where the hell was Killian with that drink?

“I don’t know, just gotta scratch that witchy itch?”

Elsa hummed indulgently, but she was undeterred by Emma’s attitude. “I’ve asked him myself, but I wasn’t convinced by his answer. I’m not sure he even knows.” After a beat, she clasped her hands in front of her. “But I think he comes to us because he can’t talk to you. And believe me, we’re a poor substitute.”

“He can talk to me,” Emma replied indignantly.

Elsa met her gaze, hard. “About everything?”

This will not define me.

They were supposed to be the same. Two complementary halves of the same brave, desperate fighter. Kids who had been lost together, who had been found, together. That was the promise they’d made before Brooke House, and the one they had fervently renewed in the wake of it.

There weren’t supposed to be things they could not talk about. Quiet, desperate things they could not say.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

She became distantly aware that she hadn’t said anything for a few prolonged seconds, and she turned away from the sharpness of Elsa’s gaze.

“I’m tired of letting the past control us.”

“The past is who we are,” Elsa said simply. “Don’t you think he deserves to find meaning in whatever he has experienced?”

Emma folded her arms. Meaning. Was that what he was supposed to find here?

“That’s easy,” she muttered. “There’s no meaning in any of it. The only thing I know for certain is that darkness doesn’t discriminate.”

It was born with you, it died with you, and sometimes, in the middle, it liked to remind you that it was there.

Elsa murmured her agreement. “It does not.”

“There we are!” Killian’s voice was loud and cheerful as he sprung up beside them, holding two glasses of a vivid pink liquid. “Sorry for the delay, Tink was just – well, she’s a royal pain in my arse, that’s all you need to know.”

He held out one of the glasses to her and Emma took it gingerly. It tasted like something citrusy. The sudden change in atmosphere left her feeling a little off-balance.

“I see you met Elsa – the place looks fantastic, by the way.”

Elsa bowed her head in pleasure.

“I’m glad you could make it. How’s your hand?”

“Oh,” Killian’s cheerful visage faded for just a moment as his gaze dropped to his bandaged palm, “it’s fine. Barely even feel it.”

Once again, Emma was struck by the idea that there was more to that story than he had told her.

“I better go do the rounds. But Emma – if you ever want to talk, I want you to know this is a safe space. For anyone.”

Something warm burned beneath her collar as she felt Killian turn his eyes on her. Elsa seemed to be expecting some kind of acknowledgement of her offer, so Emma cleared her throat.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Mercifully, after that Elsa left them.

“What was that about?” Killian asked curiously.

Emma took a large gulp of the punch. “I think she was trying to read my mind.”

Killian laughed.

“She doesn’t read minds.”

“Or cast a spell on me.”

“Don’t be daft,” he snorted, before slinging his free arm around her waist. “Did you want food?”

Emma sighed heavily. “Oh, God. Please.”

This was going to be awful.

-/-

This is what happened: it was not, in fact, awful.

It was this: the food was great, the company wasn’t bad, and Killian was alive with good humour and enthusiasm, carrying her nimbly from moment to moment.

It was this: finding herself in thoughtful conversations with other guests and forgetting momentarily that Killian was not even with her, on the occasions she found herself without him.

It was this: listening contentedly as Elsa caught the attention of the crowd, recounting fond memories of the solstice from her childhood in Denmark, and reciting the great tale of the battle between the Oak King of daylight and the Holly King of night. During Litha, on the day of the summer solstice, the Holly King would win, from then on claiming every day until Yule and making each darker than the last. It was a fanciful thing, but its whimsy somehow fit exactly right into the festivities of the Bellevue coven; and surprisingly, Emma did not mind.

It was this: the bonfire catching with a glorious roar, sparks shooting up into the midnight blue sky as the night grew darker, and allowing Killian to tug her into its glow and twirl her around to the lolling beat of the music.

And it was this: allowing herself to forget, for a single second, that there was anything at all in the world to fear.

And then she saw the scaled man.

He was standing at the entrance to the garden, by the ivy archways, his entire figure shrouded in darkness. She couldn’t make out his features, but the nasty curve of his mouth and the basket of spun gold twine at his feet gave him away. Something in Emma’s chest lurched, she wanted to throw up. She reached for Killian but Killian was not at her side, Killian was talking to Elsa, and maybe it was that, or maybe it was the cold, hard longing that had settled in her chest ever since she had called David, or maybe it was the soft buzz of alcohol running through her, but she was caught by a wave of courage she had never before experienced.

The scaled man beckoned, and she followed with purpose.

He raised a hand toward her, she could feel the brittle and knurled edges of his fingernails against her cheek even twenty paces away, and she left the comfort of the fire behind her and began her walk into the black.

She would tell him. She would tell him no, he could not have her.

She wanted to be in the light.

And she would tell him so.

Except as she got closer, she realised it was not him at all, and she could not understand how she had ever thought it was. She balked, trudging through the blur of her recent memories, but no – when she had noticed him, when she had stood by the fire, it hadn’t been the scaled man at all, but a normal person. The state of it being him, and not being him existed simultaneously, and Emma shook her head to try and regain her focus.

Because the man standing at the edge of the garden was August W Booth.

“Did you see him?”

It took Emma a few moments to realise August was speaking to her.

Her lips parted. “Did I see… who?”

August let a breath of dubious laughter, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay.”

Emma was still struggling to marry up the two scenarios in her mind – she was at the Litha celebration with the coven from Bellevue, and August W Booth was standing in front of her.

“Look,” he continued, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I thought I’d come and find you before you had a chance to find me again. You’re very good at what you do, Emma.”

A thousand questions flashed across her mind, too quickly for her to count. What was he doing here? How did he find her? What did he want?

“How do you know my name?”

That one, though, had been weighing on her mind for longer. August hesitated, glancing furtively over his shoulder, then peering past Emma out toward the bonfire. Whatever he saw did not seem to appease him.

“Not here,” he said quietly. “Don’t you feel it?” Despite the warmth of the evening, Emma shivered.

“No,” she said, although she was certain she did.

“You can find me at this address,” August continued, pulling a business card from his pocket and holding it out to her. Without thinking, she took it. “And, yeah, you can come and arrest me if you like, but I think you know that if you do you won’t get what you want.”

Emma eyed him curiously. “And what’s that?”

The corner of August’s mouth curled upwards, and his dark eyes glittered in the distant firelight; the world had granted him a secret, and he was thrilled to be its keeper.

“The truth,” he said. “The truth we both know.”

He nodded behind her. When Emma turned, she could see Killian standing motionless by the fire, staring straight at them – he looked puzzled, as if he were trying to make out who she was talking to. She was certain that if he knew he would’ve already stormed over there.

“Bring your court jester, if you like,” August continued brightly, before brushing his eyes across the rest of the clearing. The dancing, the music, the fire. “If you can tear him away.”

Emma glanced over her shoulder again to look at Killian, but he wasn’t watching them anymore. He was staring into the centre of the flames with that same blank, vacant look she had seen for days.

When she turned back August had slipped away.

She stared at the business card in her hands.

The truth, he had said. Which truth was that?

The sky had turned black, and the breath of the wind through the trees was stirring something strong, but uneasy, inside of her; the air tingled with woodsmoke and possibility, and Emma was ready.

#jay writes #the wind blows white #cs halloweek #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #I hope you like this one guys!

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laces-of-life · 3 years

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Spoilers for A Court of Silver Flames

Enjoy this extra scene featuring Azriel from the BAM! edition of A Court of Silver Flames.

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs. He knew he should get some sleep. He’d need it come dawn, for the snowball battle up at the cabin. Cassian had mentioned no less than six times tonight that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Az had let his brother boast. Especially since Azriel had been planning his own victory for a year now. Cassian wouldn’t know what was coming for him. And Az fully planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn’t let Cassian sleep much tonight. Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep. I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days, Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn’t reappeared downstairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet... Azriel couldn’t stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. He knew he’d be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he’d remained down here by the dying light of the fire. But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. “I...” He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. 1 forgot to give it to you earlier.” Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She’d waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she’d leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. “Here.” Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn’t bought her mate a present. But she’d gotten Azriel one last year—a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there. Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, “you put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...” He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.” Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.” He offered her a smile back. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.” He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. But tonight, here in the dark and quiet, with no one to see... He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her. Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around. The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?” His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp. Azriel’s fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck. It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Wrong—it was so wrong. He didn’t care. He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue Azriel’s cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn’t peer down. Prayed she didn’t understand the shift in his scent. He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she’d make. Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel’s restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there. “I should go,” Elain said, but made no move to leave. “Yes,” he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again.

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars.

Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.

But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.

“Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.

Azriel’s hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. Azriel. Rhys’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet mouth. Azriel. Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel looked up. Rhysand stood atop the staircase. Glowering down at them. My office. Now. Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back. Forced himself to say, “This was a mistake.” She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, “I’m sorry.” “You don’t — Don’t apologize,” he managed to say. “Never apologize, It’s | who should...” He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness he'd brought to her expression. “Goodnight.” Azriel winnowed into shadows before she could say anything, appearing at the doors to Rhys’s study a heartbeat later. His shadows whispered in his ear that Elain had gone upstairs. Rhys sat at his desk, fury a moonless night across his face. He asked softly, “Are you out of your mind?” Azriel donned the frozen mask he’d perfected while in his father’s dungeon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rhys’s power rippled through the room like a dark cloud. “I’m talking about you, about to kiss Elain, in the middle of a hall where anyone could see you,” he snarled. “Including her mate.” Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. “What if the Cauldron was wrong?” Rhysand blinked. “What of Mor, Az?”

Azriel ignored the question. “The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

Rhys’s face drained of color. “You believe you deserve to be her mate?”

Azriel scowled. “I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway.”

“So you'll what?” Rhys’s voice was pure ice. “Seduce her away from him?” Azriel said nothing. He hadn’t gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to. Rhys growled, “Allow me to make one thing very clear. You are to stay away from her.” “You can’t order me to do that.”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you’re pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

“That’s an Autumn Court tradition.” The battle to the death was so brutal that it was only enacted in rare cases. Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to invoke it when he'd found Mor all those years ago. Had been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris to Blood Duels and kill them both. Only Mor’s right to claim their heads in vengeance had kept him from doing so. “Lucien, as Beron’s son, has the right to demand it of you.” “I'll defeat him with little effort.” Pure arrogance laced every word, but it was true. “I know.” Rhys’s eyes flickered. “And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court, but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa.” Rhys bared his teeth. “So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.” Azriel snarled softly. “Snarl all you want.” Rhys leaned back in his chair. “But if I see you panting after her again, I’ll make you regret it.” Rhys had rarely threatened punishment or pulled rank. It stunned Azriel enough that it knocked him from his rage. Rhys jerked his chin toward the door. “Get out.” Azriel rucked in his wings and left without another word, stalking through the house and onto the front lawn to sit in the frigid starlight. To let the frost in his veins match the air around him. Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all. Then he flew to the House of Wind, knowing that if he slept in the riverside manor, he’d do something he regretted. He’d been so vigilant about keeping away from Elain as much as possible, and had stayed up here to avoid her, and tonight . . . tonight had proved he’d been right to do so.

He aimed for the training pit, giving in to the need to work off the temptation, the rage and frustration and writhing need. He found it already occupied. His shadows had not warned him. It was too late to bank without appearing like he was running. Azriel landed in the ring a few feet from where Gwyn practiced in the chill night, her sword glimmering like ice in the moonlight. She stopped mid-slice, whirling to face him. “I’m sorry. I knew you all were going to the river house, so I didn’t think anyone would mind if I came up here, and—” “It’s fine. I came to retrieve something I forgot.” The lie was smooth and cool, as he knew his face was. His shadows peered over his wings at her. The young priestess smiled—and Azriel thought it might have been directed at his curious shadows. But she just hooked her coppery-brown hair behind an arched ear. “I was trying to cut the ribbon.” She pointed with her sword at the white ribbon, which seemed to glow silver. “Aren’t you cold?” His breath clouded in front of him. Gwyn shrugged. “Once you get moving, you stop noticing it.” He nodded, silence falling. For a heartbeat, their gazes met. He blocked out the bloody memory that flashed, so at odds with the Gwyn he saw before him now. Her head ducked, as if remembering it too. That he’d been the one who'd found her that day at Sangravah. “Happy Solstice,” she said, as much a dismissal as it was a holiday blessing. He snorted. “Are you kicking me out?” Gwyn’s teal eyes flashed with alarm. “No! I mean, I don’t mind sharing the ring. I just... I know you like to be alone.” Her mouth quirked to the side, crinkling the freckles on her nose. “Is that why you came up here?” Sort of. “I forgot something,” he reminded her. “At two in the morning?” Pure amusement glittered in her stare. Better than the pain and grief he’d spied a moment before. So he offered her a crooked smile. “I can’t sleep without my favorite dagger.” “A comfort to every growing child.”

Azriel’s lips twitched. He refrained from mentioning that he did indeed sleep with a dagger. Many daggers. Including one under his pillow.

“How was the party?” Her breath curled in front of her mouth, and one of his shadows darted out to dance with it before twirling back to him. Like it heard some silent music. “Fine,” he said, and realized a heartbeat later that it wasn’t a socially acceptable answer. “It was nice.” Not much better. So he asked, “Did you and the priestesses have a celebration?” “Yes, though the service was the main highlight.” “T see.” She angled her head, hair shining like molten metal. “Do you sing?” He blinked. It wasn’t every day that people took him by surprise, but . . .“Why do you ask?” “They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?” “I am a shadowsinger—it’s not a title that someone just made up.” She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Do you, though?” she pressed. “Sing?” Azriel couldn’t help his soft chuckle. “Yes.” She opened her mouth to ask more, but he didn’t feel like explaining. Or demonstrating, since that was surely what she’d ask next. So Az jerked his chin to the sword dangling from her hand. “Try cutting the ribbon again.” “What—with you watching?” He nodded. She considered, and he wondered if she’d say no, but Gwyn blew out a breath, steadied her feet and balance, and sliced. A beautiful, precise blow, but it didn’t sever the ribbon. “Again,” he ordered, rubbing his hands against the cold, grateful for its bracing bite and the distraction of this impromptu lesson.

Gwyn sliced again, but the ribbon remained unyielding.

“You’re turning the blade a fraction as it comes parallel to the ground,” Azriel explained, drawing his Illyrian blade from down his back. “Watch.” He slowly demonstrated, rotating his wrist where she did. “You see how you open up right here?” He corrected his position. “Keep your wrist like that. The blade is an extension of your arm.” Gwyn tried the movement as slowly as he had, and he watched her self-correct, fighting against the urge to open up her wrist and rotate the blade. She did it three times before she stopped falling into the bad habit. “I blame Cassian for this. He’s too busy making eyes at Nesta to notice such mistakes these days.” Azriel laughed. “I’ll give you that.” Gwyn smiled broadly. “Thank you.” Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch. But—sleep. He needed to at least attempt to get some. “Happy Solstice,” Azriel said before aiming for the archway into the House. “Don’t stay out too much longer. You'll freeze.” Gwyn nodded her farewell, again facing the ribbon. A warrior sizing up an opponent, all traces of that charming irreverence gone. Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer. He slept as well as could be expected, but when Azriel returned to the river house to gather his presents before dawn, he found Elain’s necklace amid the pile. He pocketed it. Spent the rest of his day, even the blasted snowball fight, with every intention of returning it to the shop in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. But when he returned from the cabin in the mountains, he didn’t go to the market square. Instead, he found himself at the library beneath the House of Wind, standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening. He slid the small box across her desk. “If you see Gwyn, would you give this to her?” Clotho angled her hooded head, and her enchanted pen wrote on a piece of paper, A Solstice gift from you? Azriel shrugged. “Don’t tell her it came from me.” Why? “Does she need to know? Just tell her it was a gift from Rhys.” That would be a lie. He avoided the urge to cross his arms, not wanting to look intimidating. He blocked out the memory that flashed—of his mother cringing before his father, the male standing with crossed arms in such a way that made his displeasure known before he opened his hateful mouth. “Look, I. . .” Az searched for the words, his voice becoming quiet. “If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them. But I’m not taking that necklace with me when I leave.” He waited for Clotho’s pen to finish writing. Your eyes are sad, Shadowsinger. He offered her a grim smile. “I lost the snowball fight today.” Clotho was smart enough to see through his deflection. She wrote, I'll give it to Gwyneth. Tell her a friend left it for her. He wouldn’t go so far as to call Gwyn a friend, but . . . “Fine. Thank you.” Clotho’s pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her. Something sparked in Azriel’s chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn’s teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason . . . he could see it. But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

#a court of silver flames #acosf #special edition #bam edition #extra scene #a court of silver flames special edition #azriel #elain #gwyn #rhysand

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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A Vampire in Paris: Part One (Gigi x Crystal) - Chae

A/N: aaaa it’s here, part one! i was NOT expecting it to be 3.4k words but i’m so so so proud of the dialogue in this chapter. if you can handle a bit of exposition to get to the crygi fluff i swear it’s worth it XD

Summary: Gigi Goode arrives in Paris to start preparing for Fashion Week, but what dark secret is her company hiding? What’s the deal with those three supermodels? And why is Crystal Methyd so damn adorable?

We Begin

This couldn’t be happening. It felt wholly, totally, surreally unreal. Every dream Gigi Goode had ever dreamt seemed to be coming true at that very moment. The twenty-two year old had gone through immigration and baggage claim without really feeling much. When she met the Uber that was ordered to take her to the complex, she hadn’t felt much either. But now, as she drove through the streets of Paris, taking in the narrow paths and low buildings that completely contrasted the Los Angeles she was used to, she felt like she had arrived.

Crystal Methyd wasn’t exactly well-known, but she didn’t fly under the radar either. Anyone who spent more than two minutes researching modern fashion knew about her. She’d risen to popularity online through her wacky and interpretive, yet still fashionable, street style. Then, arguably the largest label in the world, ‘Fatelle,’ bought her company (as they did with about 90% of the fashion industry) and moved her to Paris. In a few weeks would be ‘The Methyd’s’ first showing for Paris Fashion Week, aka her ticket to worldwide fame and success, and Crystal had asked Gigi to model for her. She didn’t even know Crystal was allowed to choose her own models in the first place.

Gigi was used to having some spotlight. She’d amassed quite the following on Instagram and YouTube, which was how she got signed to her agency and apparently how Crystal had found her as well. Gigi was still dumbfounded by her luck, or talent, or universal power or whatever had gotten her to Paris to model for fashion week. She still couldn’t wrap her head around that fact when the car stopped in front of a huge building. It wasn’t modern or tall like businesses back home, but it took up an entire Parisian-sized block and stood a story or two higher than the average building.

Gigi gripped her luggage, two roller-bag cases, a duffel bag, a small backpack, and a purse, and breathed out. She wanted to look confident and put-together when she met… whoever she was going to meet. Would it be Crystal? She’d been contacted by someone named ‘Trixie,’ so probably not, but one could hope. Gigi stepped forward, entering through the gigantic gold spinning door and coughing a bit as the scent of floral cleaning product wafted up her nose.

The lobby was pristine—spotless, sparkling, even, marble floors and marble walls and marble ceilings galore. The architecture was retro, yet the furniture seemed almost futuristic. Glass display cases flaunted the designers’ best works, particularly the original creator, Miss Fame’s, designs. She felt like every single person who would work here attended at least three fashion shows a week. The young model took a moment to admire her surroundings before her heels clicked all the way to the reception desk.

There, she was met with a strikingly familiar face, with a name tag to match.

“Excuse me—wait, are you-”

“Shhhh!” the woman seemed to perk up immediately at the prospect of being recognized, looking at Gigi frantically. “I’m nobody! I’m the receptionist.” She held a finger up to her lips.

“But your name tag, it even says-”

“My nametag doesn’t say shit!”

Gigi was a little surprised at how casual the other woman spoke to her, but blinked and continued.

“You aren’t even trying to hide it?”

“Well, not everybody is as smart as you and remembers photoshoots from forty years ago!”

“This is a fashion label’s headquarters!”

The woman paused, not knowing how to respond. “Okay, touché. Ya got me.”

“May I ask a question?”

“I mean… yeah?”

“How do you look the exact same as you did in the eighties?” Gigi was raising an eyebrow at Adore Delano, a female rock icon known for her raunchy photoshoots and close relationship to the Fatelle brand. Her hair and makeup changed, her clothes were different, too, of course, but she looked the same otherwise. What kind of ooky kooky hyaluronic acid was keeping a 60 year old woman looking 20?!

“Ask, and you will not receive,” Adore sighed, playing with her hair. “There are just some things you’d be safer… not knowing,” she smiled decidedly, pleased with her answer.

“Right,” Gigi grimaced, avoiding eye contact with the star.

“Anyway girl, what’s the sitch? What can I help you with?”

“Ah, yes of course, I’m here to meet.. well, someone. I’m a new model and I’m supposed to be staying here for a while.”

“Ohhh, you’re one of the international shipments coming in for fashion week. Which designer?”

“The Methyd.”

“Shut up!” Adore grinned, a twinkle in her eye. “Babe, you’re set for life. You better make a good impression on Crystal, she’s supposed to be the new thing and stuff!”

Gigi blushed. “Will I meet her today?”

“Mmm,” Adore checked a computer screen, clicking a few buttons and squinting. “You’re supposed to meet with Trixie, so you’ll have to ask her.” She grabbed something from under her desk. “Gigi Goode, right?”

“That’s me. Good morning!”

“Party!” The older girl grinned, handing Gigi a small card. “That’s your room key—don’t lose it. Unless you wanna like, get stolen from.”

Gigi took the key, placing it in her purse. “Thank you, and noted. Do not get robbed.”

Suddenly, another voice joined the pair as a tall woman strode into the lobby, conversing on the phone. She was wearing a pink blazer-mini skirt set and white patent pumps, the outfit hugging her curves perfectly. Her hair was big and blonde, straight with iron-curled ringlets at the tips, and her big lips and long lashes completed the Barbie aesthetic. Her voice, however, was stern and confident, the complete opposite of her doll-like appearance. If this was Trixie, Gigi was already intimidated.

“Well, Brenda, tell Katya that I’ll call her back later, please,” she commanded, a short answer coming from the other end before Trixie interrupted, scolding the person in French before hanging up. She looked to Gigi with a smile. “Sorry about that. You must be Gigi!”

Gigi smiled and reached out to shake her hand, but forgot that air kisses were the customary French greeting. Nice going, idiot, Gigi thought to herself as she finished the proper hello. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Mattel!”

“Oh hun, you can call me Trixie,” she smiled. “Welcome to Fatelle! I’m your modeling manager, so we’ll be seeing each other a lot. You come to me with any questions, concerns, issues, you need a tampon, a condom, a chocolate, a shot, I’m your gal,” she winked. Gigi laughed.

“In that case, can I have a-”

“You are not about to ask me for a condom.”

“Well…”

The two burst out, Trixie’s laugh coming out more like a bird screech than a human chuckle.

“Ah! Almost forgot,” Trixie reached into her pocket and grabbed a sticky note, handing it to Gigi. “That’s my number. I’ll text you important info, like meeting and fitting dates and such. We’ve only got three weeks to prepare for this, so the schedule is packed.”

Gigi folded the paper and put it with her room card, already nervous for what was to come. “Agh, well, I’m excited to start!”

“Of course!” Trixie smiled, glancing at her phone as it buzzed. “Shit, well, I gotta go.”

“Hold on, sorry, how do I get to my room?”

“Right! I’m stupid for not telling you.” Trixie pointed to where she’d come from. “Over there is the apartment complex area. Your key card will say which room it is, and the elevators are dead ahead. This place has a restaurant open to the public like a hotel does, but it’s free for models and employees and serves us privately during the day. There’s also kitchens in the rooms if you wanna cook for yourself,” she explained. “Later tonight our team should be getting together for a meeting, I’ll text you the details, kay?” Trixie almost mumbled the last part as she frantically punched the keyboard of her phone, obviously annoyed with the person she was texting. “Enjoy your stay!”

Before Gigi could even say bye, Trixie was gone. She understood for the most part, but she couldn’t help but notice Trixie hadn’t said anything about the portion of the building across from the apartments. The curiosity ate her up, so she opted to ask Adore.

“What’s over there?” Gigi motioned to the glass doors that led to the mystery area.

“That’s where all the businessy stuff happens,” Adore rested her head in her hand. “You’ll probably go there to do your model stuff. The further in you go, the crazier the shit is.”

“Crazy shit? What kind of crazy shit?”

Adore bit her lip, knowing she’d said too much. “Enjoy your stay, Miss Goode.”

Gigi raised an eyebrow. Something smelled rotten at the Fatelle headquarters, and the young woman was dying to learn more. She followed instructions to get to her room, a spacious and immaculately decorated space. Flopping on the bed, Gigi closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to own such a large company. She’d never considered designing clothes, more than happy to stick to modeling. Speaking of which, she had a dinner to get ready for. She sat up, releasing her ginger waves from their ponytail with a shake of her head, exhaling a breath. After she unpacked, she was going to make herself look smoking hot. Crystal would not regret choosing her to be a model.

———

Gigi knocked on the glass doors leading to the private seating of the restaurant, trying to get Trixie’s attention. She’d worn her fanciest mini dress and most expensive Louboutins in hopes of impressing her team. The table was large, maybe ten or eleven girls crowding around it. And in the back, she spotted Crystal.

Or did Crystal spot her? Because they were making eye contact— holy shit they were making eye contact and Crystal was the prettiest girl ever what the fuck? Gigi gulped as someone else, a girl she didn’t recognize, let her in.

“Hey! Here to meet with The Methyd team?”

“Mhm,” Gigi nodded, air kissing the other woman. “Gigi Goode.”

“Oh, awesome! I’m Rock M Sakura, one of the makeup artists,” the shorter girl grinned at Gigi, her appearance reminding the model of a magical girl anime. “But you can just call me Rock.”

“Rock? What’s that short for?”

“Rock and Roll, baby,” she made a face and sat back down at the table, leaving Gigi to giggle and flick her eyes around to find an empty spot.

Of course the only one left was right next to Crystal.

And of course Crystal was smiling at her the entire time she walked to the seat.

“Hey, you’re Gigi right?” The designer asked, making the model blush at the fact that she knew her name.

“Good morning, it’s an honor to meet you Ms. Methyd.”

“Ah jeez, just call me Crystal! We don’t use last names here,” Crystal motioned to the laughing girls around the dinner table. “It looks like everyone’s here actually, we can finally introduce ourselves!”

Gigi glanced at Trixie, who was sitting close by, her facial expression reading “is this girl always this sweet and peppy?” The manager caught her eye and shot her back a look that said “yes.”

Crystal tapped a wine glass, garnering everyone’s attention. “Everyone, thank you all for coming to start this journey with me,” the designer started, a grin wide across her lips. “I know we’re all gonna make an amazing team, we just have to, uh, know each other’s names first?” Everyone chuckled lightly. Crystal looked towards Gigi with a sparkle in her eye. “Why don’t you start?”

Gigi took a breath, wanting to make sure her expression was stone-cold. “Nice to meet you all, I’m Gigi Goode, I just arrived from Los Angeles, I’ll be modeling.”

Crystal smiled, beckoning the rest to introduce themselves.

“My name is Jackie Cox, I came in from New York not too long ago, and I’m your backstage coordinator!”

“Bonsoir, I am Nicky Doll from Paris, obviously. I’ll be modeling as well.”

“Hey y’all, I’m Trixie Mattel, which you probably already knew, because I got you all here, because I’m your modeling manager.”

“The name is Jaida Essence Hall, and I’ve been modeling with Fatelle for some time now. I’m looking forward to working with Miss Methyd.”

“Hi, my name’s Rock M Sakura, just got here from San Francisco! I’ll be your assistant makeup artist!”

“Raven. Lead makeup artist.”

Now this chick seemed… off. She was extremely out of place amongst the rest of the girls in the group. She was just sitting there, glaring at the rest of the crew and almost… taking in information? Her face was sharp and beautiful, but her eyes pierced through Gigi’s soul as she, for some reason, stared her down. They moved on.

“I’m Plastique Tiara, I’ll also be a model. I can’t wait to start!”

“Hey there, I’m Brooke Lynn Hytes, if you’re Canadian, you know me. I’ll be helping get you guys outfits and hair stylists.”

“Ugh, great to meet y’all! I’m Jan Sport, I’m another model!”

There was only one girl left, thankfully, and only one more name to remember. “Hey, I’m Dahlia Sin. I’ll obviously be modeling.”

Crystal rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Yay! Now that we all know each other, hopefully the waiter’s coming sooooon!”

The table murmured in agreement, returning back to their previous conversations.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Gigi,” Jackie said from her left. Nicky peeked over her shoulder and nodded, flashing a gorgeous smile.

“The pleasure is all mine!” Gigi replied. “I can’t wait to try some authentic French cuisine,” she liked her lips.

“That’s right, you just got off the plane!” Crystal exclaimed.

Gigi confirmed. “How long have you been staying here?”

“Oh gosh, not long, maybe a month or two. Most of this team has only been working at Fatelle for less than a year.”

“Except moi!” Nicky’s thick accent interjected, an eyebrow raised playfully. “And Raven. Jaida’s probably been here just over a year. But yeah, apart from us, even Trixie’s a baby.”

Raven seemed to sense her name being spoken, but only tossed them a glance before returning to typing on her phone. Trixie was enthralled in some deep phone convo, the hard worker never seeming to catch a break.

“Oh, I just can’t wait to start! These designs have been in my head for years and they finally get to see the light of day on my amazing models!” Crystal gushed. The passion for her work seemed to be flowing out of each word she spoke, the radiant positivity infectious.

“We’re so excited to see you succeed, Crys,” Jan quickly complimented before returning to an apparently intense debate with Brooke and Dahlia.

Gigi noticed the waiter walk in through the glass door to take their drink orders, the model smiling at the thought of finally getting some real food in her. The only thing she’d been eating for the past 48 hours were shitty plane meals and junky snacks to try and make it through the thirteen hour joint flight.

When the door was open, however, Gigi couldn’t help but notice three distant figures sauntering down the restaurant hall. They looked super important, super rich. They must have been supermodels, but she couldn’t tell from how far away she was.

Jackie caught her line of sight. “You know them, right?” She asked, an edge of malice in her tone.

“I couldn’t exactly see who they were, but I’m sure I’d know of them.”

“They’re some bad business,” Jackie grunted.

“Really? Who are they?”

“Those are just some of the other models. Aquaria, Valentina, and Naomi Smalls,” Crystal explained, making Gigi’s eyes widen.

“No way! They’re insanely famous! Isn’t Aquaria supposed to take over the company or something?” Gigi raved.

“That’s up for debate,” Nicky rolled her eyes. “It sure looks like it, though.”

“If Mean Girls was real life, Aquaria is Regina, Naomi is Gretchen, and Valentina is Karen,” Jackie said. “And don’t you dare try to become Cady.”

Gigi laughed. “I won’t, I promise. I like you all too much.”

“Their people are another beast altogether,” Nicky spat. “One that we’ve been trying to conquer, but they’re just so full of themselves they can’t see past their own noses.”

“They’re working for Fatelle Official, so they’re doing something right,” Crystal tried to reason.

“Well, I’m working for The Methyd, which is gonna be bigger than Fatelle. I can just feel it,” Gigi grinned. Crystal laughed airily, a tinge of red hitting her cheeks.

“Thanks, Gig!”

Gigi couldn’t help but blush once again at the cute nickname Crystal has already begun to use. They all placed their drink orders, and Gigi managed to converse with Crystal without exploding. The older girl was dressed in a sparkly cocktail dress, with bright colored eyeshadow and thick eyeliner. Her hair was curly and mouse-brown, and it framed her face while flaring out in the back. Crystal was dastardly gorgeous, with twinkling eyes, a tiny nose, and lips ever-curved into a smile. Thank god it was normal to look at someone while they talked to you, because Gigi couldn’t stop looking at Crystal.

Gigi sipped the mixed drink that was brought to her at last, while Crystal looked at her with a playful smirk.

“Have you ever thought about going blonde?”

“Ha! Maybe? Why?”

“One, you’d look good. Two, I’ve been wanting to go redhead but I don’t want to come for your brand!”

Gigi laughed heartily, wiping a bit of drink off her lip. “I’ll have to think about it!”

“If you do it, do it before the show!”

“And do it at a hairdresser,” a voice said at the other end of the table. It was quiet and barely audible over the chatter of the other women, but Gigi realized Raven had been listening to their conversation. She made eye contact with the older woman and grew hot, her gaze making Gigi anxious and want to look away. She nodded at Raven and turned back to Crystal, cringing.

“What’s her deal?”

“Raven’s?” Crystal bit her lip, not entirely comfortable with the makeup artist’s presence either. “The higher ups said she needed to work with us since everyone was new, and she is the best makeup artist in the city, really,” she shrugged. “I couldn’t say no.”

Gigi nodded in understanding. “She keeps looking at us.”

“I know,” Crystal chuckled. “But I mean, who wouldn’t want to look at you?”

The model turned bright red, rubbing the back of her neck. “Thank you, Crystal. It… means a lot coming from you.”

It was the designer’s turn to blush, and for a few moments the two sat in awkward silence before they were interrupted by the waiter taking their orders. Gigi hadn’t even looked at the menu— she was too busy talking, so she just ordered whatever Crystal got.

Gigi knew, even from the short time she’d spent with her new friends, that she was in for a wild ride. And she knew something was up with Raven, Aquaria, Valentina, Naomi, and Adore, and she was going to get to the bottom of it before Fashion Week was over.

———

It was 11:58 PM when Raven opened the great wooden doors to the study, shutting them gently behind herself. She spotted Violet Chachki perched on the desk as usual, smoking a cigarette from a holder ring. Violet shot the makeup artist a look before clearing her throat.

“Darling, Raven’s here.”

In a movie-like scene, the huge velvet chair behind the oak desk spun around, revealing a disinterested Miss Fame. She too, was smoking a cigarette, but in a much less dramatic fashion than her assistant.

“So?” She pressed.

“You definitely want that Gigi girl. And you want Methyd, too.”

“Right. And?”

“You’re in luck, because apparently they’re a package deal.”

Violet grinned, glancing to her lover who seemed to share the same sentiment. The designer and the model. The CEO and the burlesque dancer.

Fame looked back to Raven, stubbing out her cigarette with her own finger.

“History repeats itself, it seems.”

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #crygi #jackie cox #nicky doll #trixie mattel #adore delano #miss fame #violet chachki #lesbian au #supernatural au #a vampire in paris #chae #concrit welcome #submission #s12

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ask-the-clergy-bc · 4 years

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Do any of the Papas and Copia (Popia? How do we refer to him now?!) play Animal Crossing, and if so what are their towns and play styles like?

I still love the name ‘Popia’! XD

Also, two of my greatest loves! Animal Crossing and Ghost! <3 Hope you enjoy!

Papas + Copia playing Animal Crossing

Papa Nihil: Never got into video games- even when they were brand new. He’s played his fair share of Asteroids and Pong, but didn’t really see the appeal past social bonding. Animal Crossing is easy enough for him to understand and control! Luckily someone downloaded Pocket Camp for him, as it’s the only one he will play. Nihil is so charmed by the cute characters and how easy going it is. Sometimes it’s a little too saccharine and childish for him- but it’s delightful and helps him relax.

Nihil doesn’t play often, but it’s something he can do when he’s particularly bored or needs something to focus on. His pocket camp is pretty average, if not littered with very expensive special items (you know he’s casually dropped $50 to get the fortune cookies he wants!) All of his campers are incredibly happy- and he has a ton of friends on his list. Also does all the events and is very pleased to display and show off any trophy items!

Papa I: Unintentionally the winner of Competitive Animal Crossing. Papa picks up video games once in a while when he has time- he thinks they are modern wonders of story telling and symbolism. He already has a penchant for JRPGs and any open world gaming. He’s the type of person who does all of the side quests on a video game, get perfect scores, and knows how to get the best armor and skill tree combos. Animal Crossing has always been a chill break for him.

Almost immediate five star island on New Horizons. His entire island is almost a DIY perfect copy of his home cathedral. Even the villagers have all taken clergy uniform designs he meticulously recreated in the Able Sister’s shop. Has gold roses but prefers the black ones. His island is definitely one of those incredibly detailed and styled ones that barely look like an animal crossing one anymore. Sometimes he grumps at the fact you can’t switch colors or the layout of the NPC shops and areas. They break the flow of his island! Once he gets his museum full, all his debts paid, and everything 100% he’s a bit bored of the game and moves onto the next one.

Papa II: Not the biggest on softer video games, or most games in general. Papa has always been a man who prefers cards or some type of board game- something he can do with others and be more entertained. But he’s not entirely opposed to playing a bit just to see what the hype is about! Video games have just never been his style even if he can appreciate the technology advances from when he was a young man. He’s picked up a few different systems, mostly at the encouragement of his brothers and tried to play. He’s pretty decent at puzzle games and some shooters, believe it or not.

Animal Crossing is something Papa appreciates for being super calming, but he does not like the cutsey style of it. Papa likes that there is so much small stuff you could do, but whenever he plays he just feels like he could be doing it in real life. Like yes, he can make this immaculately decorated little house on this cute little island... or he could finally buy that vacation home he wanted on a REAL island and decorate it with furniture that isn’t limited to color and style! Now THAT’S fun! Will play Animal Crossing for at least one long flight before shrugging and randomly the entire Switch to a random kid he sees at the airport.

Papa III: Absolutely a big Animal Crossing fan- believe it or not! He’s not an HUGE gamer by any means, but he loves games when he gets a chance to play them! There was a few times he would sneak off Clergy grounds to go take friends to an Arcade back in the 80′s! Papa always likes to try something new and Animal Crossing was something he picked up when New Leaf came out and he bought a 3DS to help with touring boredom. Papa was immediately smitten with it and thought it was amazing and gushed about everything from the atmosphere to the little characters. The ghouls were definitely sick of hearing Papa figure out all the nice things you can do in video games by the end of it!

Papa is the type to ALWAYS make your villager look as close to himself as possible (in any game he makes the PC look like him!) With his ACNH Island it is a perfect mix of him. His house is full and upgraded to the best of his ability. He’s got a room for different occasions- decorating a whole closet, sitting room, trophy room, and recreating his personal bedroom. He makes sure all of his villagers love him (and you KNOW for a fact he went out of his way to populate his island with villagers HE likes.) The island itself is beyond 5 stars with an entire garden, stage, fountains, and as many black, gold, and purple flowers you can get! Super extra, and he loves showing it off! Will slap you in person if you pick his flowers without permission.

Cardinal Copia/Papa IV: Actually doesn’t mind playing video games, he just doesn’t have the time for them! Animal Crossing has always been a good series, because you don’t have to sit down and play three hours just to get ahead in a complicated plot to enjoy the game! It’s a nice way for him to unwind. Funnily enough, as skilled as he is with so many things he is actually very bad at video games. So he’s never gotten into platformers or shooters, or even MMO’s. Visual novels and minecraft/harvestmoon types are far better for him!

Copia’s Island house would be very modest. He COULD upgrade it and make it super nice like Papa III’s- but he feels like all of his bells should go back into the village. 10/10 the guy who would NEVER sell anything gifted to him by the villagers, and ALWAYS keeps projects or items THEY want on the island. Copia wants all of his cute little animal friends to be happy. At the same time, his Avatar looks exactly like him. He painstakingly recreated his Papal attire and wardrobe for the game. He still wants everyone to know he’s in charge! IT’s honestly endearing when he talks about ‘leading’ the village as well as he does the clergy.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #Ghost headcanon #cross over #animal crossing #animal crossing new horizons #acnh #papa nihil #papa emeritus i #Papa Emeritus II #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #soft #fluff #ghost fluff

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misssophiachase · 4 years

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Blame Taylor Swift for distracting me from my other stories (which are still being updated I promise). Eleven parts - eleven songs. Hope you like it.

Invisible String

Famous singer Caroline Forbes returns to her hometown for a funeral and to face demons from her past, not expecting someone familiar to return and throw the confected world she's created upside down. Based off songs and lyrics from Taylor Swift's Folklore. On FF and AO3

Chapter one: the 1

Mystic Falls, VA

The large, antique mirror was always one of her favourite pieces of furniture in the house. Her mother had been an avid collector of rare, antique pieces and this was one of her most treasured finds.

Liz told her as a child that mirrors possess magical powers.

They don't lie.

Looking at herself today, Caroline knew that much was true. She barely recognised the woman staring back at her.

Her knee length, black, Chanel dress was modest but stylish and her blonde tresses were pulled back into a low chignon at the nape of her neck with a pair of simple, pearl earrings her only accessories.

She looked every bit the grieving ex-girlfriend, her publicist had made sure of it. The problem was, only half of that statement was true. Ex-girlfriend, yes, but grieving she wasn't quite sure.

Caroline walked to the nearby bay window, looking down at the beach below.

Her large mansion sitting atop the cliffs overlooking the sea had been an impulse purchase five years earlier. She'd bought it for her mother initially. But Liz always maintained that she preferred the small house on Mulberry Drive where she'd raised Caroline and it had remained vacant ever since.

She couldn't bring herself to sell it, if anything it was a veiled reminder to the residents of Mystic Falls who she'd become and just how much some had underestimated her worth. Petty, yes, but Caroline felt it was justified all the same.

She faltered, seeing the long stretch of sand below. It always reminded her of him. The lazy summer days that passed while they played in the surf and built a myriad of sandcastles, some even taller than Caroline. He was like that, always had to be the most competitive. The best.

But also so loving and kind, his unconditional support like a warm hug that she'd craved for too long before he arrived in town. He was everything she needed and that feeling had never abated, even after all this time.

She looked away and shook her head, determined to push those particular memories deeper inside. This trip was about her ex-boyfriend, not the boy with the dimples who rescued her and what they could have had, what they could have been. Caroline repeatedly told herself that their story was destined to be captured like a snapshot in time, nothing more.

After all, some of the greatest movies of all time were never made.

He'd gone on to become one of the hottest and most sought after actors in Hollywood, his recent nomination for an Academy Award his latest accomplishment.

Sure, she liked to pretend she didn't keep tabs on his life but that would be lying. Every time she saw him photographed in magazines and at movie premieres, his arm around the latest girlfriend, Caroline couldn't help but wish it was her.

But they'd had their chance and there was too much history between them to ever salvage what could have been.

"Caroline, you ready?" she turned to face her publicist and best friend from the doorway. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" She nodded, her invisible mask now firmly in place, determined to hopefully get through this day unscathed and as quickly as possible.

Then she could get the hell out of Mystic Falls and never come back again.

1 week earlier...Empire Field Mile High, Denver CO

"Thanks everyone, you've been amazing, good night!" Caroline yelled into the microphone, waving at the heaving crowd for the last time.

Whether it was a small dive bar at the beginning of her career or the giant stadiums she'd graduated to, Caroline didn't think she'd ever tire of the feelings it evoked. Caroline didn't think she'd be here, let alone doing something that she loved. She'd been singing since she was a little girl sitting on her mother's lap but never thought she'd be singing her own songs for the masses.

She was discovered in one of those very dive bars at the age of nineteen. It was her first regular gig and although the clientele were either non-existent or questionable, Caroline was just grateful to have a steady job for three months.

When the handsome and immaculately dressed brunette (although she wouldn't admit that to him now) had entered the bar, looking completely out of place, she was mid-song. She could remember the cover song like it was yesterday, Breathe by Sia.

Just after her set, he'd produced one of those impressive-looking business cards before approaching her on stage. Enzo St John was his name. His demeanour was poised, his manner and unexpected British accent extremely polished.

"I'm going to make you a star."

If she wasn't so starving, desperate and facing eviction from her Santa Monica studio, Caroline probably would have scoffed at his cliched terminology. But she wasn't that much of an idiot.

And he did make her a star. As evidenced by her steady climb up the music charts, sold out concerts and complete make-over from small town girl to multiple grammy award winner and current 'it' girl if nights like this playing in Denver were anything to go by.

"You knocked it out of the park!" Enzo yelled, trying to be heard over the loud cheers from the manic crowd in Denver as she walked off stage.

"You do realise this is a football stadium, right?" She asked, taking the towel one of the stage hands had kindly provided.

"I don't understand." The way his forehead creased in utter confusion was enough to prove that very point.

"Of course he doesn't," her agent interrupted their conversation. "Enzo doesn't realise he's used a baseball metaphor because all he cares about is his beloved soccer."

"I'll pretend you didn't just commit blasphemy by calling football that dreaded word, Bennett," he huffed. "Bloody Americans."

"We love you too, Lorenzo," Caroline teased, throwing the towel she'd just used at him teasingly. "Now, what's next?"

Bonnie and Enzo looked at her mouths agape. Only Caroline Forbes, America's sweetheart, would be this hardworking. Her schedule was hectic enough but Caroline always took it in her stride and strived to do more and be better. Her mother had taught her that from a young age and she hadn't forgotten since.

"Ah, I don't know, maybe go back to the hotel and sleep, darling," Enzo responded, finally finding his voice. "This tour is only going to get crazier and you need to rest."

"Even Kat would recommend that and we all know how much she loves a good after party," Bonnie joked.

She was an agent at premiere talent company CAA and had recently come on the road for a few weeks. Caroline had met her and publicist Katherine Pierce not long after Enzo. The three were a packaged deal even if they did fight like siblings. Being an only child, Caroline actually relished in their incessant bickering.

Caroline weaved her way backstage and into her makeshift dressing room. Her finale outfit was meant to not only sparkle but also to stand out. Which was great but comfort definitely wasn't an overall factor in its design.

After an obligatory swig of Evian, she began to change. A knock at the door wasn't wholly unexpected, hence the screen she was standing behind. Usually, it was one of her personal staff needing to discuss various matters. Caroline was someone who didn't like to be alone, especially with her thoughts, so would never discourage company.

"Care," she heard her publicist call out. "You decent?"

"Come in, Kat," she said, albeit muffled by the top she was removing.

"Amazing show, as usual," she smiled, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"

"Invigorated," she grinned. "Performing live is the best high anyone could ask for."

"Well, I'm glad," she began slowly,"because I have some news that I thought you should know." Caroline didn't like the sound of that, it was just like when she'd been informed her mother had passed away in the line of duty three years ago. She suddenly felt sick, holding onto the screen for some much- needed balance.

"News?"

"From your hometown," she added. "I wasn't sure if you already know but given your response I assume not."

"Just tell me," she snapped. Caroline knew it was uncalled for given she was just the messenger but there was something about the mention of Mystic Falls that had the tendency to throw her into a spin.

"I'm sorry," Kat soothed. "Your, uh, I mean, uh, Damon Salvatore has passed away."

Caroline felt the precarious sense of balance she had slowly slipping away, all the way onto the floor. It was only when Kat scooped her up and led her towards the couch that she finally processed her words.

Damon.

Dead.

"How?" She managed to bite out as Katherine force fed her some water.

"Motorcycle accident," she offered, brushing the hair from her forehead. "He collided with a vehicle on the interstate. It was instant."

Caroline closed her eyes. She'd always wondered what it would feel like to hear those words but it didn't register like she'd imagined. She'd wished so many bad things on him too many times. She thought there'd be a sense of relief or freedom.

But all she felt was nothing. Not sad, not angry, not shock or disbelief. Just nothing.

Besides Kat telling her she was "so sorry" and continuing to rub her back, the silence in the room was deafening.

"How do you, of all people, know that?" She croaked, sitting up and looking at her friend imploringly. They'd never met. Damon was nothing but a revised memory she'd concocted for her public image.

The typical small town girl with the high school sweetheart angle and her management team had eaten it up. If only it was true.

"Those rabid vultures at TMZ somehow got a hold of it, want to know if Caroline Forbes is attending his funeral in Mystic Falls."

"Well, given you just told me…"

"I know, like I said vultures," she hissed. "I'm not even going to justify their heartless request with a response. Can I get you anything, sweetie? Tissues, water, a really big bowl of chilli fries with extra ketchup?"

Caroline snuggled back into Katherine's embrace knowing exactly what she wanted. She wanted to forget, even if it was just for one night. "I need a really big bottle of tequila."

Caroline winced from the memory, thinking that tequila truly was evil and that she wouldn't be touching it again anytime soon.

Fast forward a couple of days and Caroline was here preparing for Damon's funeral. They'd only arrived late the night before so as to avoid the welcome circus. Her team had accompanied her to Mystic Falls in a show of support and she appreciated it, even if they didn't know the full story.

Given every media outlet knew about his death via TMZ, Caroline figured if she didn't go along with it then they'd know her backstory wasn't exactly what she'd sold them and that couldn't happen.

She'd worked too hard to get where she was and her past wasn't going to return and ruin that.

#klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #folklore inspired #klaroline #invisible string #misssophiachase #chapter 1 #the 1

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

Text

Like a House of Cards Ch. 6: A Family of Eggshells

Summary: There’s precious little time remaining, and the city is set to change forever.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

It had all happened so fast for them. One moment they were all enjoying their time on the ship, and then the Host had come in to whisk them away because one of the Suits was coming to attack them. Of course, he hadn’t said that to Dark, but as they were waiting in the hallway the person that came around the corner wasn’t a hitman in a dark suit. It was Chase Brody, without a mask,

“Look Average, get out of the way, one of the Suits is coming down here,” King called out.

“The Host’s brothers and sister are mistaken, that is Clubs,” the Host corrected.

“Nah, can’t be right, he doesn’t actually use real guns, an’ Clubs’s killed like, a lot ‘a people,”[1] Yancy argued.

Illinois moved to start placing magical barriers, because if the Host said that was a Suit, Illinois was going to believe him.

“Illinois,” Brody called out, “did the Host tell yeh[2] why I’m here? I bet he didn’t.”

“Illinois should not listen to Brody,” the Host ordered.

“Why, ‘cause[3] we’re on the same side?” Brody sounded pissed. “Cause yeh’ve been lyin’ to him fer weeks? ‘Cause yeh ne’er cared about Dark.”[4]

“Brody has spoken a bold-faced lie!” the Host shouted. “Brody wants to kill the Madman and the Host is trying to prevent it.”

“He can’t die,” Brody dismissed. “All I’m gonna do is shoot him once an’ let him just fook off. I don’t know why yeh put us through this shite when yeh could’a just left us alone.”[5]

Just then the dome was shaken by the first hit from Logan’s robot. The walls flicked in and out of existence for a second and in that brief moment, Brody slipped through the wall.

He raced through the dining area and pulled a gun on Wilford and pulled the trigger, the magical round strike exactly where the very angry sniper had meant to hit: the left temple. Wil’s magic counteracting most of the blow, a light bruise and some blood from gazed skin would be all he would suffer from this wound.

But the dome cracked one final time and Brody raced for Dark who was braced with magic to attack. The dome snapped back to a smaller size and trapped Dark and the Suit inside.

Illinois took a second to realize what had happened, and raced over. He spared a glance to Wil who was grumbling as he picked himself up and motioned for Illinois to go on. So Illinois raced to the barrier and threw as much magic and physical force at the dome but it held much stronger than when the dome was larger.

“No!” Illinois screamed, trying to force a way in. “Come on, open.”

“Here, let me,” Wil tried to pick himself up and try to break down the dome but it refused to give. “Fiesty little bugger, ain’tcha[6]?”

“There is little point when the Anomaly isn’t done yet,” the Host walked up. “Clubs isn’t going to kill or hurt the Entity. They’re in fact in the single most protected spot in the city, at the moment.”

“Yeah, but we need to get him out,” Illinois told the Host.

The Host frowned, “Of course the Host and his family do but they need enough aura and the Host will have to get Marvin and Nate to help with that. If he could find a couple of the Sides that would help.”

“That was Clubs, what does he actually want?” Illinois demanded. “Bullshit time is over.”

“Clubs . . . he . . . Brody,” the Host began, trying to find a way to calm Illinois without making the situation worse.

“Host, this isn’t the time to be cryptic,” Illinois demanded. “What does he want?”

“Clubs wants Dark to be safe and to have vengeance for the Entity’s sake in equal measure,” Host forced himself to say.

“Well then this seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding then,” Wil huffed out. “Maybe we could talk to him then.”

“Brody is not interested in talking anymore,” the Host said.

Wil shrugged, and pulled out a gun out of thin air, “Oh well, we tried.”

“What does he want with the Ol’[7] Man then?” Yancy asked, and he looked around and saw the beanstalk shooting up into the sky. “The fook[8] is that?”

“Not our concern right now,” Illinois dismissed. “What does he want with Dark?”

“The Host already told Illinois,” the Host tried to evade.

“You’re being vague,” Illinois grumbled. “What does Clubs want and why does he look like Bro Average?”

“Because it is him,” the Host answered quietly.

Illinois glared at the Host in suspicion before looking at the dome, “Why is he so interested in him then?”

“Because in fifteen minutes Illinois and his siblings will lose one father and the other will grow distant in grief, and the Host has been desperately trying to prevent it. After the Madman dies, Brody and the Entity will—”

Illinois stormed off, wanting to get away from the situation, mostly because his mind couldn’t wrap itself around what the Host had told him.

Eric followed him over, Bim close on his heels. The rest of their family followed much slower, at least trying to pretend to give Illinois some privacy of thought.

When Eric and Bim finally caught up to him, Illinois was sitting on a pile of rubble. Eric came to sit down next to him, looking nervous. “Want to talk?”

“I just,” Illinois faltered, taking a deep breath. “I never thought about the possibility of there being another man in his life. They’ve always been together.”

“Maybe the old man got sick of Dad, he’s such a fucking hardass,” Bim thought out loud.

The adventurer turned to glare at his adopted brother, getting back on his feet, “Maybe it had less to do with the fact that Dark somehow betrayed Wil, and more to do with the fact that your dad is a cheating bastard who fucks everything that moves.”

“My dad?” Bim huffed in a rage.

“Now boys, there’s no need to—” Wil tried to cut in, but he was promptly ignored as he was walking up.

“Yes, your dad,” Illinois spat back, starting to get angrier. “Because maybe that fucker’s wrong, or maybe the rest of you actually don’t care because I spent fifteen damn, fucking years reversing whatever shit you managed to do in your first five.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse you?” Bim spat, his eyes going wild with anger, aura curling around him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“He never wanted any of us calling him dad, after five years of spending time with you. I kinda get it.” Illinois accused. “You had to have done something!”

“Guys, stop it,” Yan begged.

“Come on, we’s shouldn’t be fightin’,”[9] Yancy pushed his way in-between them.

“Get out of the way, Yanc,” Illinois shouted, pulling his lucky coin out of his pocket.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be placing the blame on me, I was never good enough!” Bim argued back. “He had to replace me with you!”

“I shouldn’t have had to replace you if you were a better fucking person!” Illinois shouted.

“Fuck,” King was just watching, trying to stay quiet before his brothers turned on him.

“Enough!” The Host shouted, his aura yanking Bim and Illinois apart.

“Boys, boys,” Wil moved in. “There’s no need for this, your father and I love all of you the same.”

“Not true, Illinois is the favorite,” Bim spat.

“I’m not the favorite, you are,” Illinois spat back.

“The Host said STOP!” The Host demanded, concentrating. “Now if Bim and Illinois are done airing their family’s dirty laundry where anyone can hear, there’s precious time and the hunters are closing in.”

“Fuck,” Illinois growled and most of the group headed back to the dome while King and Host went to go and find Marvin and Nate to help pop the barrier.

Dark woke up slowly, like being roused from a deep sleep. Groaning, Dark looked around to see he was in a bedroom, in a bed that wasn’t his and a home that wasn’t the Manor. Quickly Dark got out of bed and found he was still in his white suit. Which he found he appreciated a lot more the more he thought about it.

When he got to the door he opened it easily with his aura. There was no lock or barrier of any kind. And there was the sharp smell of bacon coming down from the hallway.

The only other doors he found were off to the side of the bedroom he’d been in that lead to a full walk in closest that contained all types of suits and clothes. In the hallway that was a bedroom with a bunk bed and a mass of clothes and toys strewn about inside. There was a hallway closet, an immaculately kept office that Dark found that he wouldn’t have designed the placement and decorations of any better if he had tried, and a hallway bathroom.

Following the scent of home cooked breakfast and bacon, Dark saw Brody standing in the kitchen. The hitman turned around and smiled at the Entity.

“Finally awake?” Brody smiled. “Good, I was a little worried.”

He separated out food and coffee onto two spots of the table, seated for four. As Dark watched from a cautious distance.

“I figured yeh didn’t trust me enough ta eat anythin’ I made, but I made some fer yeh anyways,”[10] Brody offered. “I got yer[11] coffee, just the way yeh[2] like it.”

“You’re right,” Dark scoffed, looking around. “I’m not going to take or eat anything you give me.”

Chase gave a wry, amused chuckle, sipping on his coffee. “I figured.”

Dark looked at the three shoes by the door, one pair of adult sized boots, and two pairs of black and white child-sized shoes. They were such small shoes, judging by the size the children who wore them couldn’t be any older than three or four. A nostalgic pang hit Dark as he remembered when Bim had been that small. It had been an incredibly difficult time in his life, but he didn’t regret a second of it.

“What do you want?” Dark demanded.

“I already have what I want,” Brody smiled as he sat back in his chair. “Yer in here safe, an’ in about fifteen minutes the barrier will dissipate on its own an’ yeh’ll be free ta go. In fact, I’m not e’en keepin’ yeh here. Host just turned on the Anomaly an’ we’re stuck here until it pops again. So I figured we should kick back an’ relax until it does.”[12]

Dark shielded himself in his aura and looked around the place. It seemed like a cozy home. There was a box full of toys in the living room, more evidence that the children who lived here were on the young and small side. “Who’s house is this?”

“Legally my name’s on all the papers,” Brody told him. “I live here with my family. It’s a nice place, not too big, not too small. The boys love it.”

“Yes, I saw the toys,” Dark tried stalling for time as he spread what aura he could spare from shielding himself to investigate the place. The front door wouldn’t budge, it was like it was a painting on a wall rather than functional . . . as were the windows and the back door. “And the shoes.”

“Oh yeah,” Brody hummed, he was staring at Dark.

Which was weird because there was no malice in the state and he’d taken great pains to make himself as comfortable in the kitchen chair as possible, so if he struck then Dark would have more than enough time to counter.

“Just tell me what you actually want,” Dark huffed out, unused to such singular attention. “Is it information?”

“I just want ta[13] spend time with yeh[2],” Brody frowned, “an’ I already told yeh, I don’t want any money or anythin’ like that.”[14]

Then his smile came back, “Besides, there’s nothin’ about yeh that I don’t already know. I know about Marc an’ about the fact that he an’ his whole family stole e’erythin’ from yeh. I know about what a shitebag yer ex was. I e’en know that there’s this lovely spot behind yer ear that yeh—”[15]

“Enough,” Dark spat, a dark grey-purple blush spreading across his face. “I do not appreciate being made fun of. Why keep me here if you didn’t want something? Everyone wants something.”

Brody waved his hand in dismissal, “That right there is our problem, but soon it won’t be a problem. The barrier will collapse an’ yeh’ll be free ta go about yer day. An’ I’ll be here, waitin’ fer yeh if yeh need anythin’ from me.”[16]

The house seemed to shake as an incessant pounding attacked the door. The protective dome around them shaking. With a couple shakes, the coffee mug intended for Dark rattled and fell off the table, shattering on the floor in a mess of lukewarm coffee and broken ceramic.

“Fook,”[8] Chase grumbled and ran to the door to throw his weight and aura at it to try and keep it closed. “Fook[8] off, Host.”

The house flickered twice and the tentative magic snapped. Brody saw four sources of magic pointed right at him: Nate, Marvin, the Host, and Illinois.

Their combined magic knocked Brody to the side.

“Darky!” Wilford rushed over as Dark saw in the distance the hunters start to converge on their location, finally getting through the destroyed parts of the city.

The Guildmaster and Dark took one look at each other in the chaos of the commotion around them. She took as much magic as she could collect, having saved up as much strength and aid from the myriad of magical items and trinkets she had collected over the weeks and months while the Suits — Spade in particular — had attacked her hunters and fired it at Clubs first but as he was removed Dark was still in the path of destruction. Which wasn’t a trade off she was lamenting.

And then Wilford cut right in front of Dark, trying to see if he was okay.

In an act of panic, born from the months he’d been on edge with the Suits, Dark threw a portal in front of him and Wilford unwittingly stepped through it. The portal took him several feet to the right and the Entity was hit by the full might of the single strongest attack he had ever felt in the hundreds of years of the demon’s existence.

The strike cut through the aura that he tried to gather up to shield himself, it hit Damien first whose soul was in the front. Celine screamed inside their shared mind . . . and the body flickered briefly to the much smaller and weaker being that had once inhabited it before the combined force of the Entity had pushed them out.

Toppling backwards, Dark blacked out and fell to the ground. The body’s form flicking dangerously between all of their appearances as Dark’s souls were starting to crack and break at the seams.

And Dark’s souls weren’t the only ones screaming.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. Nah, can’t be right, he doesn’t actually use real guns, and Clubs has killed like, a lot of people,

2. you

3. because

4. Because you’ve been lying to him for weeks? Because you never cared about Dark.

5. All I’m going to do is shoot him once and let him just fuck off. I don’t know why you put us through this shit when you could have just left us alone.

6. aren’t you?

7. Old

8. fuck

9. Come on, we shouldn’t be fighting

10. I figured you didn’t trust me enough to eat anything I made, but I made some for you anyways

11. your

12. You’re in here safe, and in about fifteen minutes the barrier will dissipate on its own and you’ll be free to go. In fact, I’m not even keeping you here. Host just turned on the Anomaly and we’re stuck here until it pops again. So I figured we should kick back and relax until it does.

13. to

14. and I already told you, I don’t want any money or anything like that.

15. Besides, there’s nothing about you that I don’t already know. I know about Marc and about the fact that he and his whole family stole everything from you. I know about what a shitbag your ex was. I even know that there’s this lovely spot behind your ear that you—

16. That right there is our problem, but soon it won’t be a problem. The barrier will collapse and you will be free to go about your day. And I’ll be here, waiting for you if you need anything from me.

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clowns-or-midgets-spn · 4 years

Text

I just posted my first (non series) one-shot. It’s called A Day In The Life and it’s a fun humor-filled glimpse in Peter’s life with The Avengers aided by the wonderful prompt from @snarky-drabbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243052

“Don’t be nice to Dum-E,” Tony Stark said seriously. “He tried to poison me again.”

Peter's face fell as the robot made a small, sad beeping sound.

“Awww, were you trying to help?" Peter asked, and the robot nodded. "Engine oil smoothie again?"

“Yes,” Tony Stark said darkly. “And I wasn’t paying attention, so I actually drank some.”

Peter stifled a laugh and addressed the robot. “I know you were doing your best. Don’t listen to him.”

“Like they ever do,” Tony Stark snorted.

Ned hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder then hurried his pace as Peter was getting away from him.

As excited as he was to be doing this, as hyped and inarticulate he’d gotten when Peter had said it was all arranged, he was freaking out in the bad way now.

They were supposed to be making a short film for media studies, and Peter had stumbled on the idea of doing a day in the life of Tony Stark. Sure, that was great on paper, and Ned had maybe peed a little when Peter said it was happening, but now they were on their way to Avengers Tower to spend a whole day with Tony Stark, and he wasn't sure his heart could take the strain. This was a feeling way beyond excitement or nerves—it was a heady combination of the two with an extra dose of how-the-hell-is-this-real spinning in him until he felt nauseous.

Peter, on the other hand, was acting like this was just a regular day. Sure, Ned knew he had his internship with Tony Stark, and he had his internship, which involved swinging around Queens in a suit designed by Tony Stark, but how was he not losing his mind? They were going to be in Avengers Tower, with Tony Stark for a whole day, or at least as long as it took to make the film.

Ned really didn’t think he was going to make it through the day without passing out.

They reached the sliding glass doors of the tower, and Peter strode through them without missing a step. Ned, on the other hand, hesitated and wiped a hand over his mouth in case there were still crumbs from the breakfast bagel he'd eaten on the way here. He thought there was probably enough chance of them—or him—getting kicked out before they made it past the lobby, even if he wasn't wearing half of his breakfast on his chin.

“Ned, come on, dude,” Peter called, looking back over his shoulder.

Ned took a breath, braced himself to be thrown out by security, and walked through the doors. The lobby he found himself in was vast. The floors were grey-veined marble on which the heels of the men and women walking around clicked. There was a polished wood reception desk behind which sat three women and a man with telephone headsets which they were talking into. In the center of them was a matronly looking woman with steel-grey hair pulled back in a bun. She had the look of someone that took her job seriously, and Ned thought he could see the cogs turning behind her eyes when she looked at him, processing his appearance and deciding which security officer to summon to kick him out.

“Hey, Juliet,” Peter called cheerfully.

The woman's professional manner dropped at once and became more of an overindulgent grandma as she fixed her eyes on Peter and said, “Peter dear, how are you? I’ve not seen you for two weeks! Where have you been?”

"We've been doing lab time at the compound," Peter said. "I missed you, though. How's Sophie and Richie?"

"Oh, they're fine," she said, beaming at him. "Richie is cutting a new tooth, but it's not getting him down, and Sophie is practicing for her Christmas dance recital at school." She clasped her hands to her chest. "I've got my son filming it, so I'll have him email you a copy."

Peter grinned. “That’d be great.”

Ned swallowed audibly as he looked at his best friend, or at least the person that looked like his best friend. There were stark differences, though. Peter Parker stumbled on words and went on tangents, and he never mentioned anything about dance recitals or anyone called Sophie or Richie. This Peter was confident and calm, totally at ease here.

Peter looked at him, and his smile fell. "Sorry, Ned. Juliet, this is my best friend, Ned. We're doing a school assignment with Mr. Stark today. Ned, this is Juliet. She's the boss of the front desk, and her grandkids are adorable. I met them at the company picnic this summer.”

Stark Industries had a company picnic? Peter went to a company picnic? How did Ned not know this? It was like Peter had this whole other life that he knew nothing about.

“Show him their picture, Juliet,” Peter encouraged.

The woman plucked a silver-framed photograph from her side of the counter and turned it to him. He saw a little girl with fiery red hair and a baby on her lap.

“They’re… uh, real cute, ma’am,” he said awkwardly.

Juliet touched a finger to the cheek of the image of her granddaughter and then placed the picture down and said, "Has Mr. Hogan arranged a security pass for your friend, Peter?"

"Yep," Peter chirped. "He's supposed to be meeting us here to hand it over and to get Ned's biometrics."

Juliet looked past Peter’s shoulder and said, “And here he comes.”

Ned spun and saw Happy Hogan marching towards them, his face set in a glower. His black suit was immaculate, and Ned suddenly felt very grubby in his worn-down Nikes, ratty jeans, and a blue hoodie.

Peter, who was dressed almost identically to him, only he'd swapped the hoodie for a t-shirt with Yoda's face on it, looked perfectly comfortable. He greeted Happy with a wave and grin, which did not diminish when Happy crossed his arms over his chest and said, "You're late."

“We had to stop for breakfast,” Peter said.

Happy raised an eyebrow. “You kept me waiting.”

“Sorry, Happy,” Peter said. “I wanted to get something for you, too, though.” He slid his backpack off his shoulder, unzipped it, and took out a squishy package in a brown Starbucks takeout bag. “It’s a cronut.”

“What the hell is a cronut, why are Starbucks selling them, and why do you think I need one?”

“They’re like a croissant/donut hybrid, Starbucks are branching out, and I thought you’d like it since I know Mr. Stark’s banned the cafeteria staff from serving you anything too fun since your last cardiogram.”

Ned thought he saw a flash of fondness on Happy’s face, a slight softening of the eyes and a quirk of the lips, but it was quickly gone and replaced with a neutral mask as he snatched the bag out of Peter’s hands and said, “Thanks, kid. Now, let’s get this done so I can do my actual job instead of catering to the boss’ pet intern’s buddies.” He fixed his eyes on Ned. “You’re Ned Leeds?”

Ned nodded mutely, and then, when Peter elbowed him, licked his lips and said, “Yes, sir. That’s me.”

Happy took a device out of his pocket, which was the size of a phone but square. He tapped it then held it up in front of Ned’s face. He heard the click of a photo being taken, and then a red line of light slid over Ned’s face, making him gasp.

“It’s okay, Ned,” Peter said. “It’s just a retina scan. It’ll go on the security system to identify you through Friday.”

“Friday?” Ned asked.

Peter beamed. “Say hello, Friday,” he instructed.

"Hello, Peter," a disembodied voice replied. "And hello, Mr. Leeds. It's nice to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you from Peter and Karen.”

Ned looked around, eyes roving for the source of the voice, and Happy grunted a laugh.

“You won’t find her, kid,” he said gruffly. “She’s the AI interface for the tower. She’s everywhere.”

“And nowhere,” Peter said with a wink. “Technically, she’s based in the mainframe, which is in the basement near the arc reactor, but that’s not really her. You’re all seeing, aren’t you, Friday?”

"I am indeed, Peter," she said. "And I think I should remind you that you told Boss you'd be here at eleven, and it's now eleven-fifteen."

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “Damn. Yeah. Uh… Has he noticed I’m not here yet?”

There was unmistakable amusement in her voice as she replied. “No. He is currently working on the Mark XLVIII Armor. He will undoubtedly notice soon, though."

“We’ll be right there,” Peter said.

“One minute,” Happy said, then addressed Ned. “Kid, give me your digits.”

Ned stared at him blankly. “You mean my phone number?” That was some kind of old-fashioned way of asking, right? He was sure he’d seen it in a movie once.

Happy rolled his eyes, then grabbed Ned’s hand and waggled it. “Digits, kid!”

He pressed Ned's fingers one by one onto the device in his hand, then dropped his hand and said, "Okay, you're good." He rooted in his pocket and pulled out a badge that looked like a credit card attached to a lanyard. "This is only valid today, and it'll give you access to the lobby and the cafeteria," he said. "You want to go anywhere else, you'll need the boss or Peter."

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Ned took the card and examined it. It was emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo, his name, and a large number ten.”

"You're basic clearance," Happy explained. "The kid here's level one, so he can get you anywhere you want to go, but…" he crossed his arms over his chest. "No making a nuisance of yourself. Serious business happens here, and we've got top security guests on the penthouse."

Peter grinned. “We have? Awesome!”

Happy's lips quirked with that smile again, which was quickly wiped away. "We have. Same goes for you, kid. I know they all think you're great, but don't be a pain. It's bad enough that you've got the boss playing starlet for your little home movie.”

“It’s not a home movie, Happy,” Peter said. “It’s a school assignment, and Mr. Stark said it was okay.”

Again, there was the small smile, and then Peter and Ned were being propelled towards the elevators with Happy’s hands gripping the backs of their collars. He planted them in front of the elevator at the very end, the one with a black panel beside the button, and said, “Go on. Get out of my hair.”

Peter placed his hand on the panel, a light swiped over his palm, and then the voice Ned now knew was Friday said, “Peter Parker, security clearance level one, identified. Where would you like to go, Peter?”

“All the way up to eighty-five, please, Friday,” Peter said. “We’re going to Mr. Stark’s lab.”

The doors slid open, and Peter stepped inside.

Ned looked around the lobby again then followed him in. He was pretty sure he was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime with his best friend, and from what he had seen so far, he thought he was going to learn a lot about Peter, too.

Like who he was when he walked through the glass door of Avengers Tower.

When the elevator doors opened, Peter led them along a hall to another door with a security panel which Peter placed his hand on. The light ran across his palm, and then the door clicked open. Ned's ears were immediately assaulted by blaring music, which he didn't recognize but knew it was old.

Peter pushed open the door and entered, and the volume of the music lowered to a more manageable level.

"Thanks, Friday,” Peter said, then raised his voice a little. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, was standing right in front of Ned. His hair was tousled, and there was a black smudge of oil on his cheek. At first, he looked vague, staring between Peter and Ned, who shifted from foot to foot and wished he'd gone to the bathroom before he left as he suddenly felt very close to peeing from nerves.

“Are you late?” he asked Peter.

“Nope,” Peter said guilelessly. “I said I’d be here at eleven-twenty, and”—he pointed at the digital clock on the wall—“we’re right on time.”

Tony Stark narrowed his eyes and said, “I call bullshit. You said eleven, I’m sure.”

Unabashed, Peter said, "Okay, yeah, we're a little late, but we needed breakfast since I didn't think you'd want us passing out from low blood sugar. And I remembered what you said about Happy's cardiogram, so I stopped at Starbucks to get him a fruit salad pot for breakfast so he wasn't tempted to go out and get something unhealthy to snack on.”

Tony Stark narrowed his eyes. “Friday, what did the kid get Happy?”

“A fruit salad pot,” the AI reported. “He seems to be enjoying it.”

Ned’s mouth dropped open. Tony Stark’s own AI was lying to him for Peter. How the hell had he managed that? Ned was sure a genius like Tony Stark would program it for absolute honesty to him.

Tony Stark nodded, and his lips quirked into a smile. "Good job, Underoos. Now, you going to introduce me to your playdate?"

Peter's eyes snapped to Ned again, and he said, "Yeah. Sorry. Ned, this is Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark, this is my best friend, Ned."

“Nice to meet you, Ted,” Tony Stark said.

“Ned,” Peter corrected.

Tony Stark waved a hand. "Sure, that, too. Now, you got everything you need for this video thing? I'm giving you one day to do it, then your time is up. I spend enough of my life with cameras pointing at me already, thanks, so I'm not giving you more."

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Peter said. He strode forward and dumped his backpack on the worktable in front of Tony Stark and unzipped it.

"Oh no, you don't," Tony Stark said. "You're not turning my space into your chaotic dumping ground. Use your own table."

Peter nodded, grinned, and carried his bag over to another large table which was dotted with tools, only some of which Ned knew the use of, scraps of metal and what Ned thought was a web shooter in the making.

Peter had his own space in Tony Stark's workshop. He had his own tools? This was crazy. Why had Peter never told him this? He just said Tony Stark taught him stuff on his internship, and they worked on his suit. This was bigger than that. It was like Peter was a part of his team, with his own place to work.

From the corner were soft beeping sounds, and Peter's head snapped around, and a wide smile spread across his face. "Hey!”

He ran into the corner where there were two robots with hydraulic arms which seemed to be making the sound. One of them tapped a claw on Peter’s shoulder, and Ned moved closer to see. The one touching Peter had an ugly scarf wrapped around what Ned would call its neck, made from red and yellow wool. The other was wearing a dunce cap.

“Hey guys,” Peter said happily. “How are you doing?”

In answer, there were more beeps, and the claw plucked at the sleeve of Peter's t-shirt.

“Uh… Peter…” Ned said, his confusion making its home in his voice.

“This is U,” Peter said, patting the arm of the closest robot, the one wearing the scarf, and then pointed at the one wearing the dunce cap and said, “And this is Dum-E. Mr. Stark built them. They help him with his inventions.”

Tony Stark snorted. “They also screw up and try to extinguish non-existent fires.”

Peter laughed and tugged on the scarf the robot was wearing. “Looking good, man. Is it new?”

The arm bobbed up and down in a nod.

“And what happened to you, buddy?” Peter asked the other bot. “You having a bad day?”

“Don’t be nice to Dum-E,” Tony Stark said seriously. “He tried to poison me again.”

Peter's face fell as the robot made a small, sad beeping sound.

“Awww, were you trying to help?" Peter asked, and the robot nodded. "Engine oil smoothie again?"

“Yes,” Tony Stark said darkly. “And I wasn’t paying attention, so I actually drank some.”

Peter stifled a laugh and addressed the robot. “I know you were doing your best. Don’t listen to him.”

“Like they ever do,” Tony Stark snorted.

“Uh, Peter,” Ned said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Why is that robot wearing an ugly scarf?”

Tony Stark clearly had keen hearing as he spun around and said, “Ugly? That is not the word for that scarf, Ted.”

“No, of course, I mean… Uh…” The color drained from his face, and he began to gape like a fish. Tony Stark was correcting him. This was a nightmare and a blessing at once.

“Relax, kid,” Tony Stark said. “We’ve only got the basic med team here during the day shift, and they might not be able to get here fast enough if you had a stress-induced heart attack. The full crew does the nightshift for when Underoos is patrolling so they can deal with his occasional stab or bullet wounds.”

Peter’s head snapped around, breaking the conversation he’d been having with the bot, and said, “It happened once, Mr. Stark, and it wasn’t really a stab wound. It wasn’t a knife.”

“No,” Tony Stark agreed. “It was an iron bar that impaled you in the kidney.”

"You got stabbed!" Ned squawked. "How did I not know that? I'm your guy in the chair. I should be informed."

“You’re his what?” Tony Stark asked, a gleam in his eye.

Peter held up a finger. “He’s my guy in the chair, who would have saved me crashing a plane if Happy had been listening. Ned is a vital part of my life as Spider-Man.”

Tony Stark narrowed his eyes but nodded and said, “Point conceded.” He turned his gaze on Ned. "And yes, he was stabbed with an iron bar by some supercharged gremlin thing. And that's nothing compared to the time he was shot in the gut and got septic because he tried to pull the bullet out himself with tweezers."

Ned gaped at Peter, who waved a hand and said, "He's making it sound way worse than it was. I was fine, really."

“And you didn’t tell me because?”

Tony Stark moved to them and clapped a hand on Ned’s shoulder, making his breath catch and his vision blur because Iron Man was touching him, actually touching him with his superhero hand. Ned was collecting superhero DNA right now, and he wasn't sure how long he would stay conscious with that knowledge and weight on his shoulder.

"Probably because he didn't want you to share my nightmares, Ted," Tony Stark said, then smirked. "And because you apparently believe him when he says he's got stomach flu so can't come to school while he’s recovering.”

“It’s Ned, Mr. Stark," Peter scolded.

Ned licked his dry lips and, as the hand fell from his shoulder, remembered how to breathe. “Ted is fine. They sound really similar.”

Peter scowled, and Tony Stark winked at him then said, "And my point, before we got off track, was that it is a hideous scarf, not an ugly one, but you can’t say it outside this room as its creator is sensitive about his knitting and we all appreciate how hard he’s trying.”

Peter grinned and nodded. “He’s not wrong.”

“Now, get the camera set up, Ted, while Underoos makes nice with his bot buddies. I got the Hulkbuster armor out to show you since I thought that would be most impressive for all your little kindergarten friends.”

“We’re seniors, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

Tony Stark waved a hand. “Sure you are, kid.”

Ned hurried to Peter’s desk, set down his own bag, feeling suddenly bereft as if it had been a security blanket, and took the video camera out of Peter’s bag.

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “I want to get some footage of you working at first, then we’ll ask you some questions.”

Tony Stark nodded, “Sure, kid, whatever gets you the gold stars and extra apple slices at break.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Sure, thanks.”

Ned and Peter fiddled with the camera settings for a moment, then Ned lifted it and pointed it at Tony Stark, who had picked up a screwdriver and twisted a screw on the knee of the massive armor. "This okay?" he asked.

“Yes,” Peter said, “But try not to talk to us while we’re filming unless we’re doing the interview. This footage is going to have a voiceover as we talk about who you are and what you do.”

Tony Stark huffed a laugh. “Yeah, because no one in your school will know who I am already. This is going to be ground-breaking stuff.”

“Your ego is showing, Mr. Stark,” Peter muttered.

Tony Stark’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

“I said this angle is great,” Peter said innocently. “We’re going to start filming now.”

Tony Stark glared at him a moment then muttered, "Little asshole," as the bots beeped in rapid succession, which Ned thought sounded a lot like laughter.

Ned pressed record and steadied the camera on Tony Stark as he fiddled with the screw and pulled up a hologram above the armor. He seemed to become lost in what he was doing, his brow furrowed and, seemingly oblivious to Ned and the camera, he said, “Over here, Underoos. I want you to look at this spot. Do you think we can increase the torque to get the speed of motion up? Bruce is pretty damn fast when he’s gone full-on green guy, and I’d like to get the jump on him.”

Peter bounced over to him and said, “Hmm, maybe. Have you tried increasing the pressure on the hip joint?”

“No. Hmm… That could work.”

They fell into conversation about details of the armor that Ned, a genius himself, was lost in, and he focused on keeping the camera steady and getting them both in the shot.

This film wasn't going to be quite what they'd planned to make, but Ned thought using this as a chance to show Flash and the rest of their doubting classmates that Peter's internship was a real thing, that he was on a level with Tony Stark when it came to this stuff, was going to be way better than what they'd planned to make.

xXx

Ned had been filming for thirty minutes, and marveling at his best friend for even longer, when the door slid open behind him. He spun around, pointing the camera at a pretty woman with strawberry blonde hair, wearing a neat pantsuit and a knobbly scarf similar to the one the bot was wearing, except this was black and green.

“Oh… uh… hi,” he said when she stopped just inside the door and raised an eyebrow. “I’m Ned.”

The woman’s face transformed into a smile. “Of course! Peter’s told me so much about you. I’m Pepper Potts.”

She looked between Ned and the camera, which he only now realized was still filming. He hit the button to stop the recording and lowered it. She approached the table where Tony Stark and Peter were bent over the armor and talking in clipped sentences, which seemed to be some kind of shorthand. She cleared her throat, and when that failed to interrupt them, she tugged on their collars until they were both upright and turning to see who was bothering them.

Their reactions were synchronized and equal in intensity. Peter beamed and said, "Hey, Pepper. Nice scarf," and Tony held up a hand and said, "Nope, no way. I know that look, Pepper, and it's my day off. I told you I was doing the home movie thing with Peter today. I don't care who wants to speak to me, what you need signed, or what alien threat is touching down in Central Park; it's my day off."

She raised an eyebrow. "First of all, hello, Peter. How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm great. We're doing some fine-tuning on the Mark XLVIII. We're working with the theory that if we can displace some of the power from the upper body, which is mainly reliant on hydraulics anyway, we can increase the speed of movement for the lower body, which means Mr. Stark would be faster than The Hulk so could pin him down sooner, minimizing collateral damage.”

She listened to his rambling with a fond smile and then said, “That’s great, honey,” patted his cheek, and fixed her eyes on Tony Stark. “Second, when you put me in charge of the company, you put me in charge of when things happen, so if I have stuff for you to sign now, you’ll sign it, mister.”

Tony Stark glowered. “Do you have something for me to sign?”

“No. And no, there’s no one wanting to talk to you, either. I cleared your schedule so you and Peter could have this day together.” She drew a deep breath and raised her voice. “And finally, there is no alien threat descending on Central Park, but you and I both know that you and Peter would be there already if there was. Don’t act like Iron Man is some chore, Tony, when you and I both know that if I had my way—”

She stopped, and Tony Stark rose to his feet and pressed his lips to her. Peter looked away, humming and rubbing the back of his neck as the chaste kiss deepened, leaving Ned standing frozen, staring at them. It wasn't that he liked watching couples making out—he wasn't a creeper—but this was Tony Stark—Iron Man—getting his ass handed to him by Pepper Potts, who MJ had informed them was a feminist icon and general badass. It was like seeing two rare birds at once; at least that was what his grandfather would say since he was really into ornithology and used birds to reference pretty much everything in life.

“Okay, Ned,” Peter said, suddenly in his face, blocking his view of the kissing icons, for which he was grateful, and tugging on his arm. “Let’s go get something to eat. They’ll be going back and forth like this for a while.”

“They do this a lot?” Ned asked, not sure if he meant the reaming or the kissing.

Peter rolled his eyes as he pulled open the door and led Ned down the hall to the elevator. "The kissing? Yeah. It's getting worse the closer we get to the wedding. And Pepper giving Tony hell, yeah, they're always like that." He grinned.

They stepped into an elevator, and Peter instructed Friday to take them up to the eighty-ninth floor then planted a hand on Ned's shoulder and said, "Okay, Dude, we're going to see some people now, friends, and I need you to do something for me."

Ned nodded eagerly. “Sure, man, anything, you know that.”

Peter grinned. “I need you to remember to breathe.”

Puzzled, Ned opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but then the elevator doors were sliding open, and Peter was leading him into a vast room. There were couches and chairs set facing a huge TV, a kitchen area with a massive table, the biggest fridge Ned had ever seen, and a stove that had ten burners—he counted. As impressive as this room was, as much as his mom would kill to get to cook in the kitchen and his dad would want to watch the game on the monster TV, it was the people in the room that made his breath gust out of him and his brain forget how to replace it with new.

Captain America was sitting on the couch, his brow furrowed with concentration as he fumbled with a ball of yarn and two knitting needles. Beside him was a man Ned knew best from the news' courtroom footage of his trial and subsequent pardon for the crimes of the Winter Soldier—Sergeant James Barnes. Opposite them was a woman with red hair in a messy bun who Ned knew was the Black Widow—though the Black Widow never wore yoga pants and strappy tops on the TV. To top off the moment of insanity was the Doctor Bruce Banner, who was sliding cookies from a baking trap into a plate.

They all looked around as Peter called a greeting and introduced Ned, and so they had front seat views to the moment Ned’s legs, denied oxygen too long by Ned’s empty lungs, gave way, and his butt hit the carpet with a thump.

“Ned!” Peter cried, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”

Ned nodded, and then his brain kicked in and remembered how to breathe. Wonderful air flooded his lungs, his blood saturated with oxygen, and the ringing in his ears disappeared.

“You okay, kid?” Doctor Banner asked, coming to kneel beside them.

Ned nodded. “Yes, Doctor Banner, Sir, I just…”

Sergeant Barnes, who had got to his feet when Ned fell, narrowed his eyes and said, “You forgot to breathe.”

Cheeks blazing with embarrassment, Ned nodded and muttered. “Yes, sir.”

Peter helped him to his feet, and Doctor Banner guided him to a seat at the table with a hand on his elbow—more superhero DNA, this was the best day ever.

“I’ll get you some juice,” Peter said, patting Ned’s shoulder and going to the fridge, rooting in it and calling, “Hey, who drank all the orange juice?”

“I did,” the Black Widow called in reply. “Is that a problem?”

Peter turned around and fixed his eyes on her. “A problem? No, I guess not, but it’s kinda mean, Nat.”

She smirked. “I’ll run out and buy you some more if you want.”

Peter waved a hand. "It's okay. The orange was for me. Ned prefers apple." He poured a glass and brought it back to give to Ned with a knowing, "Drink up." It was as if he knew Ned's head was swimming, and he really needed the boost of sugar since his body was burning through it with the adrenaline caused by being in the same room as his heroes.

Ned took a sip and then froze as Doctor Banner picked his free hand up and pressed his fingers to his wrist. Yeah, Doctor Bruce Banner was taking his pulse. That was a thing that was happening.

How was Peter so calm with all this going on? Why wasn’t he freaking out?”

"It's fast but strong," Doctor Banner said, then patted Ned's shoulder. "You just sit quietly for a few minutes.” He turned away and addressed Peter. “If you’re out of juice, you can have some of my chocolate milk.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Peter said happily, then darted to the fridge to get his drink.

Ned stared at him in awe. Peter called Doctor Banner Bruce. Like he was just a person. Like they didn’t spend whole afternoons geeking out when they chose him to be the subject of their most accomplished scientist of the century essay in junior year.

What was Peter's life here, and how did Ned not know this?

And did Doctor Banner really drink chocolate milk?

He watched Peter pour himself a glass, drain it, and then pour another as The Black Widow wiped away his chocolate milk mustache with a fond smile.

Ned became aware of eyes on him, and he looked around. Captain Rogers was frowning at the yarn in his hands again, but his friend, Sergeant Barnes, was staring at Ned. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand on end, and his heart sped. If Doctor Banner checked it again, he was going to be very concerned. Ned was concerned. His heart was hammering against his ribs so hard that Ned almost expected to see it move the front of his hoodie.

He knew the Winter Soldier was dangerous and had done all kinds of awful things, but that was when he was under the control of Hydra, at least that was what his defense team said in court. He was supposed to be an American hero, really, like Captain America.

Ned thought that might be true, but he also thought Mr. Barnes was looking at him now with a view to causing some serious pain if he put a toe out of line.

“Uh, Peter,” he squeaked.

Peter stopped trying to brush the Black Widow's hands away as she messed with his hair, and his eyebrows rose, which made Ned sure his very real panic was showing. Peter looked between Ned and Mr. Barnes, who was still examining Ned, and a small frown appeared on his brows.

“Bucky, quit it,” he said, in the same tone Ned’s mom used when she caught him sneaking snacks out of the fridge before dinner. “Ned’s not a threat.”

Sergeant Barnes’ eyes moved from Ned to Peter and narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Peter huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure. He’s my best friend. We go to school together and have for years. He is in no way a threat.”

Sergeant Barnes seemed to accept that as he nodded and then smiled. The difference the smile made was huge. He seemed suddenly kind and friendly, eager even as he said, "Book club later, Pete?"

Peter looked genuinely remorseful as he shook his head. “I can’t today, sorry. I’ve got to finish this project for school. We’re filming Mr. Stark for a day. We came up to get a snack and to give him a Pepper a moment alone. I’ll come over tomorrow, though, and we can talk about chapter ten.”

Sergeant Barnes nodded seriously, as if that was a binding agreement, and then relaxed back in his seat.

"Snacks!" Doctor Banner said, going to the counter and then delivering the plate of cookies to Ned and Peter, who had joined him. The Black Widow came to them, boosted herself up onto the table, crossed her legs, and grabbed a cookie.

Peter took one then nudged Ned until he did the same. He took a bite of the still-warm cookie and grinned. "It's really good."

“That’s because Bruce made them,” the Black Widow informed him. “He’s the best at desserts. If you want the savory stuff, you’ve got to talk to Steve or Bucky.” She gestured over her shoulder to where Captain America was knitting with little skill and occasional huffs of annoyance.

“Peter, why is Captain America knitting?” he whispered.

Peter laughed softly. “It’s a self-care thing. We, all of us, deal with nightmares after some of the things we've done, so Sam, our resident shrink, set us up with therapy tools. Mine is my photography, Bucky's is book club, Natasha's is—"

She cleared her throat and cut a hand across her mouth.

“Natasha’s is confidential,” Peter went on with a nod. “Point is, we’ve all got something, and Steve’s is knitting. He’s making us all scarves since his sweater attempts were…”

“Disastrous,” Sergeant Barnes said with a nod. “Yep.”

Ned’s mind was reeling. This was crazy. He wondered if he was the only civilian to see this side of the superheroes. The Hulk baked cookies and drank chocolate milk, Captain America knitted sweaters, Iron Man scolded his robots and put dunce caps and scarves on them. And this was Peter’s life. He was perfectly happy here with them, relaxed; it was like they were more than his friends, like family.

The Black Widow looked between Ned and Captain America and grinned, then whistled around her fingers and said, “Rogers! Report!”

Captain America jolted as if shocked, dropped his yarn and jumped to his feet, and said, “What’s wrong?”

Peter laughed, and Natasha smirked. "Peter's brought a friend for us to meet."

“This is Ned, Steve,” Peter supplied. “Ned, this is—”

“Captain America. You’re…” Ned drew a shaky breath. “Wow.”

Captain America was the hero to him. He’d been raised on the comics and stories of him. Sure, Iron Man was great, and Ned knew Peter idolized him since he was a kid, but Captain America was the one that Ned had admired most. He'd gone from scrawny and weak to buff and fast, which was cool, and then he’d gone behind enemy lines to save his friend and four-hundred others without backup. That was hardcore superhero stuff. He was the first avenger.

“Nice to meet you, Ned,” Captain America said, coming to him and holding out a hand.

Ned stared at it a moment too long, his mind reeling, and then shook it, hoping his palm wasn’t too sweaty because he was really nervous.

Captain America pumped his hand up and down twice, gave it a small squeeze, then dropped it and said, “So, Ned, what do you do?”

“I… uh… I like computers,” Ned said.

Captain America frowned slightly. “I don’t know much about them, but that sounds great. Any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine.” His eyes widened as if struck with an idea. “Hey, Ned, do you want a scarf?”

Ned’s mouth dropped open, and he forgot how to close it. Captain America was offering him a scarf. He was going to knit him one. Sure, the fact Captain America apparently liked knitting was insane, but the thought that Ned might get something made for him was amazing.

“I’d love a scarf, sir,” he said. “That’d be great.”

Captain America nodded, grinned, then went to the corner where there was a bag of balls of yarn, which he began to pluck out one by one and say, "Green? Or yellow? Or would you like one with Spider-Man colors like Peter's?" His eyes flickered to Peter. "Where is your scarf, Peter?"

“I lent it to Aunt May,” Peter said with a small smile. “She was getting cold going to work for the night shift.”

Captain America beamed. “That’s kind of you. I’ll make her one, too, when I’ve finished your friend’s. So, Ned, colors?”

“Anything would be fine,” Ned said a little shakily; he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact he was having a conversation with his hero.

Captain America pulled out two balls of yarn, new knitting needles, then went back to the couch and got to work.

“Tell us a little about yourself, Ned,” Doctor Banner said. “What do you like to do with computers?”

“Uh… everything, really. I like programming best, but I’m pretty good at hacking, too.”

Peter laughed. “Ned hacked my suit and unlocked all the features Mr. Stark had blocked off. He’s a genius!”

Ned grinned, bolstered by Peter’s enthusiasm and admiration. “Yeah, that was pretty tough. He had a hardcore firewall to get through, but I managed it.”

“It was pretty tough?” a voice said behind them.

Ned spun so fast he fell off his chair, landing on his butt for the second time with a loud, "Oof." He blinked up at Tony Stark, who was looking down at him with a carefully neutral face but a gleam in his eyes.

Ned thought he looked dangerous.

“You’re the one that hacked my suit…. Ted?”

Ned licked his lips. “Uh… yes, sir.”

"Mr. Stark, he didn't want to," Peter said, rushing to his defense. "I made him do it."

Tony Stark held up a hand and said, “Zip it, Underoos.” He fixed his eyes on Ned and said, “How long did it take you?”

“Uh… a few minutes.”

His eyes widened a little, then a small smile quirked his lips. “It took you a few minutes to hack through my tech, my firewall, and unlock the features I knew Peter wasn’t ready for?”

Ned gulped and winced. “Yes, sir.”

“Hmm…”

Ned thought he could see anger building behind Mr. Stark’s mask, and he squeezed his eyes shut and flinched away. A strong hand gripped his wrist and yanked him to his feet. He still didn’t open his eyes, not until a callused hand tapped his cheek and an amused voice said, “Breathe, kid, and look at me.” Ned forced himself to obey, meeting Tony's Stark's eye and waiting for the explosion. Instead of an explosion, though, Tony Stark smiled, showing his teeth in the way Ned had seen in magazines over the years, some of which made it into Peter's scrapbook, and said, "So, kid, you got much free time?"

"Oh. I, uh, I mean have school, and I'm in band, and I'm on the decathlon team, so not much, but—”

Tony Stark held up a hand. "You want an internship with my tech department?"

Ned's heart skipped, and he mouthed wordlessly.

“Speak!” Tony Stark instructed.

“Yes,” Ned squeaked. “I’d like that a lot, Mr. Iron Man, Sir.”

Peter grinned and clapped Ned on the shoulder. “Awesome. We get to do this together.”

“You can do some together," Tony Stark said. "I'm not having this place turn into daycare. Ted will have his assigned mentor, and you'll have me. You don't get to drag more of your little friends here in hopes of them getting a job."

“A job?” Ned said weakly. “I thought it was an internship. You don’t pay interns.”

“You don’t,” Tony Stark agreed. “And you two don’t tell anyone else that you’re getting anything more than experience from it, understand?”

Ned nodded. “I understand.”

Peter clapped Ned on the shoulder and said, “We don’t get paid, though we have an all you can eat option in the cafeteria, but Mr. Stark pays for our college through the September Foundation.”

Ned gaped. He knew his parents were worried about paying for his college, and he’d applied for scholarships, but if this was for real, he could afford to go out of state the way he wanted. He could apply to the places he really wanted to study instead of where he thought his parents could afford.

“You thought much about college?” Tony Stark asked.

“Uh, a little, yeah.”

“MIT on your radar?” he asked. “That’s where Underoos is going.”

“It’s where I might be going, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “I’ve got heard back yet.”

Tony Stark ruffled Peter’s hair and said, “Kid, with your brains and my letter of recommendation, they’d be nuts not to accept you.” He turned back to Ned. “I want you here after school two days a week, with Peter, and you can come to the compound for weekends. Give me a month to get a report from your mentor on what you’re coming up with, and I’ll see about writing you a recommendation, too.”

“I… uh… huh… Ya…” Ned sputtered inarticulately, totally overwhelmed, and Peter placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “That’s Ned for, thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony Stark nodded and ran a hand through hair. “Now, kids, you going to get this filming thing done. I’ve been informed by my fiancé that I’m booked solid tomorrow with wedding prep, so you’ve got today with me and no more.”

Peter nodded eagerly and said, “Shall we go back to the lab. We need to do the interview portion now, and then maybe some domestic scenes.”

“Domestic? Think who you’re talking to, kid. I don’t do domestic?”

Peter snorted, and Ned looked around the room. The Black Widow was dunking cookies in Peter’s chocolate milk, Doctor Banner was wiping down the counters, Sergeant Barnes was reading on the couch with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Captain America was knitting.

Maybe Tony Stark was the exception, but Ned didn't think there was much more domestic than this. And Peter was a part of it. These people were his family.

Ned had come here to see a day in the life of Tony Stark, but he thought he’d seen more of his best friend’s life than his, and now, with this internship, he was being given a small part of it.

This was the best assignment ever.

#irondad #irondad and spiderson #fanfic #snark #humor #the avengers #mcu spiderman #mcu iron man #iron man

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